


Awake, Arise, Or Be Forever Fallen

by ConsSunshine58



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gay Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25076137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsSunshine58/pseuds/ConsSunshine58
Summary: Following the events of the engagement party near the end of Chain of Gold, Alastair and Thomas begin their new relationship together.  It is rocky to start, and becomes more complicated when angelic magic intervenes.  With a new mystery to solve that could be the key to their future together, Alastair and Thomas navigate first love amid opposition.  Will their feelings for one another be strong enough to sustain them when they learn ancient Shadowhunter secrets that could tear them apart?
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs/Thomas Lightwood
Comments: 84
Kudos: 362





	1. Agony (Alastair)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my first attempt at a story set in the Shadowhunters universe! My OTP is Malec, of course, but after reading Chain of Gold, I just couldn't leave Alastair and Thomas in such a state. I have high hopes that they will get together in future Last Hours books, but until then, here is my take on how they come together after the first book.
> 
> The first two chapters are really more prologue, showing where Alastair and Thomas are emotionally before chapter three, when they meet again for the first time since Cordelia and James's engagement party. The story is about halfway finished as of now and I hope to update about once a week. Please let me know if you have ideas or recommendations--I still have a lot of things to think through and could use some help :) I'll update tags as I go, but rest assured, there will be sexy times later on.
> 
> NOTE: the self-harm tag is for this chapter only and is only a brief mention. It may be discussed in later chapters but this is the only time it will actively happen. It's at the very end of this chapter, so you can skip the last paragraph if you'd like to avoid it.

Alastair couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t function far beyond running for his family’s carriage. It was at the far end of the circle drive for, as the guests of honor, they had been one of the first to arrive. What a whirlwind the past weeks had been and how ironic that his family had ended up back at a ball at the Institute being thrown in their honor. Each of them a different farce to save his family from ruin. The Carstairs, it seemed, were cursed to repeat the past in inventive new ways meant to bring them low. It was more than Alastair could bear to think about at the moment.

When he reached the door of the carriage (ignoring the concerned looks he was getting from the footmen of other carriages) he yanked it open and threw himself inside with little care to his person or clothing. Once enveloped by the silent shadow of the interior, Alastair slumped aback against the seat and gasped for breath. He clawed at his tie, pulling it from around his neck and pulling at the shirt buttons over his throat. Cool air rushed into his lungs, slowly evening out as he welcomed it in with gasping breaths. 

Eventually, Alastair reached a modicum of equilibrium and was able to focus on other things. His throat burned with tension and acid from his upset stomach. His gut seemed determined to be at odds with him, roiling unpleasantly as it had since he first spoke to Charles and finally broke things off with him. He knew he had not been too hasty, it had been the right things to do for himself, but it still made him ache with pain and loss. Alastair then became aware of cool wetness on his cheeks. He was still crying over Charles and Thomas and his utter (and in some cases well-deserved) humiliation. The memory of Lucie seeing him in such a state turned his stomach anew. The pity in her eyes, the way she had pleaded with him to stay, for his sister’s sake…It was too much on top of everything else.

The thought of his sister brought a fresh wave of nausea. Cordelia! He couldn’t fathom what she thought after he had forced her to witness his final conversation with Charles. She knew he was “that way,” and she had seemed supportive, but to be privy to the more intimate details of his relationship with Charles, then see him disgraced as not being enough to satisfy his lover and earn his fidelity? Surely she could not think well of him after that. Alastair hated the thought of leaving her, and their mother, but he could absolutely not bear to see pity in his sister’s eyes as well. 

Without a preconceived notion of doing so, Alastair found himself opening the door and tumbling out of the other side of the carriage. Once his feet were on solid ground he took off past the drive, through the gates, and out onto the unforgiving streets of London. It was a long way back to his home in Kensington from the Institute, but he relished the arduous walk.

The farther he went, the deeper his dark and disconnected thoughts swirled until they seemed to form a thick black miasma that encircled his head, making it difficult to draw breath or form coherent thought. Not that he wanted to think or remember what had happened. Still, there was only one thing that remained crystal clear, no matter how he wished he could forget it. The cruel look on Thomas’s face and his icy tone throwing hateful words at Alastair like daggers. You are not who I thought you were. Matthew is right…If you come near me or speak to me at any point after this, I will knock you into the Thames. 

Alastair retched, clutching his stomach. He came up hard against the side of a grime-covered building and just managed to make it into the narrow alleyway between it and another before he vomited painfully. He hadn’t eaten much that day, too caught up in the ball celebrating his sister’s engagement, so it was mostly foul, stinging bile that passed his lips. It was over almost too quickly and he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, uncaring about the state of his clothes or shoes. He stumbled back out of the alley and almost collided with a man coming out of the building. The man, unshaven and smelling strongly of the contents of the bottle he clutched in one hand, gave Alastair a toothy grin. “’Ad too much, eh mate? Strong stuff they got in ‘ere!” Alastair followed the man’s motioning hand to the sign of the building. Elle’s Pub. For one precious moment Alastair considered going in and getting completely sloshed. It wasn’t like he had any dignity left to preserve and he could use the alcohol to clear his head of visions of the boy he had begun to fall for and abruptly lost forever.

But, he remembered his father and what a disappointment he had been. Much of Alastair’s life had revolved around cleaning up his father’s drunken messes. There was one night that stood out vividly in his mind. Elias had managed to blunder his way back to their home in Madrid after a night out. Sona had waited up for him but finally fell into s fitful sleep in the sitting room, waiting for her husband to come home. Elias hadn’t made it inside the house, however, and Alastair, at ten years old, had found the man passed out on the front step early the next morning. There was vomit everywhere and an empty bottle in his father’s hand. Elias hadn’t woken at first when Alastair tried to revive him and the boy panicked, drawing healing rune after healing rune on his father’s arm, crying at him to wake up. Alastair would be damned if he put his family through that twice. 

He was almost surprised when he wound up back at the house in Kensington. The walk hadn’t seemed nearly far enough to erase everything that had happened to him that evening, even though he legs trembled with the effort to hold him up after several miles of walking. Alastair let himself inside and climbed heavily stair by stair until he reached his bedroom. He paused in the doorway after fumbling it open. He looked around the room dazedly, as though entering it for the first time. The dark green walls mocked him with the color of Thomas’s hazel eyes and the spotless twin blue armchairs were, and would remain, empty. His prized daggers, displayed along the mantle above his fireplace, winked at him in the dull light of the setting sun. Suddenly, he hated his room and everything in it. It all reminded him of his sad, lonely life.

With a snarl of rage, Alastair yanked a spear from his jacket, flicked it open, and flung it at one of the blue armchairs. It went straight through the back with a satisfying crash. He produced another spear and used both hands to jam it down into the Persian rug at his feet. The wood of the floor splintered beneath it and Alastair stabbed at the carpet again and again, until it was as full of holes as his heart was. Finally, he flipped the spear around and, with a vicious swipe, knocked all the gleaming daggers off the mantle. One of them, a lovely silver etched khanjali without a sheath, spun through the air and sliced Alastair’s arm as it sailed past. He cried out and dropped his spear, clapping his hand to the wound. With a strangled curse, he sank down to the ruined rug. 

From here he surveyed the destruction with dead eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the things he had broken, even knowing his family would eventually find out. Everything in his room was all transient, replaceable. Just like him, and Ariadne, and Grace. He was so stupid to think that he would be enough for Charles, who had always put his career first. And he was even more stupid to have dredged up the past with Thomas and Matthew. Had had hurt the boy he most cared for and now he had no chance with either of them. He had been crossed twice in love, both through his own fault. He was doomed to live alone. For a breath he thought of leaving London altogether, maybe start over in Paris, but the though died as soon as he had it. He could never leave his family, his obligation to care for his sister and mother in his father’s absence. He was trapped.

It took a long while before Alastair brought his attention back to his injured arm. It was bleeding quite a lot, he noted with disinterest, even as the red liquid welled up between his fingers and dripped down on to the rug, adding to the ruin. He could barely dredge up the effort to reach for his stele. It slipped a little in his hand, which was covered in blood, but he managed to push back his sleeve and begin the first strokes of the healing rune. Up in a counter-clockwise arc, almost complete, before a sharp back-forward-down, ending with an up-tuned loop. The familiar burn on his skin felt right, like a punishment for his actions both in the Academy and now. He lifted the stele and drew a firm downward line that nearly bisected the rune before lifting his stele. Immediately the iratze faded into his skin and began its work healing the slice on his arm. 

Alastair watched, fascinated, as the skin knit together, leaving only glistening blood behind. The pain ebbed and he felt lost without it. It hadn’t hurt enough, he hadn’t punished himself enough. He started to draw another rune, an iratze, just to feel the burn again, but then his wrist shifted ever so slightly and he found himself drawing instead a very similar rune. Upwards arc, back-forward-down. But instead of drawing the line that finished the healing rune, Alastair stared at the agony rune in thick black lines on his dark skin. There was a moment of nothingness, and he thought for a second that it hadn’t worked, then the rune burned with the heat of a branding iron and Alastair screamed.


	2. Conversations (Thomas)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for so many likes and comments already! I'm glad this pairing is getting some love--fingers crossed Chain of Iron will have some more Thomastair for us! Until then, please enjoy Chapter 2, in Thomas's POV. 
> 
> This story is still in the works, so I'd love to hear if anyone has suggestions for these two!

Chapter 2: Conversations (Thomas)

Two days after the engagement party, Thomas was at the Institute, come to train with James, Matthew, and Christopher. After Cordelia had vanquished James’s demon grandfather Belios, the Shadowhunters suspected that regular demons might begin returning to London in greater numbers after being kept at bay for so long. In order to stay sharp, his group had begun training in earnest, as well as Lucie and Cordelia. Thomas didn’t mind training more often. It kept his mind off of other things—so many other things that he couldn’t deal with them all at once.

During a break between archery practice and hand-to-hand, Matthew dispatched Thomas to the kitchens to get them all some refreshment. Thomas had obliged and made his way downstairs and through the living quarters towards the lower level kitchen. He paused when he heard his name in Lucie’s voice from behind her unlatched bedroom door. A low feminine murmur followed—Cordelia, he guessed. 

He was about to move on when he heard Cordelia’s voice say another name he recognized: Alastair. Despite his best effort to move on to the kitchen, he remained rooted to the spot. Thomas knew he shouldn’t be eavesdropping on what the ladies were telling one another in confidence, but he’d heard his name and he couldn’t walk away when he heard Alastair’s as well.

“I think we are in agreement about that at least,” Lucie was saying. “Matthew was much too harsh to your brother. Thomas as well—I’ve never heard him speak like that to someone. I was hoping we could all put aside our differences, in light of what’s happened and what’s to come.” There was a pause followed by the ruffle of skirts and soft footfalls on a rug. Lucie was pacing. “It has been over three years since the Academy and the boys have all grown since then. Do they not think that Alastair has done so as well?” 

Cordelia’s voice floated above Lucie’s fervent announcement. “I truly think that Alastair has been making an effort towards forgiveness. He’s helped us all fight demons and Thomas said he was helpful in making the antidote. If they could just see past the past, we could all be much stronger together. Now is when the Clave needs to band together, not fight amongst ourselves.”

Thomas remembered all too well how handy Alastair had been with his spears as they fought Benedict Lightwood’s cerberus demons together. His cheeks flushed at the memory of how well they had all worked as a unit to defeat the demons. It was difficult to hold on to the anger he had felt during the scene at the party where Alastair had confessed to spreading awful rumors about his family. He had been furious in the moment, but as his anger cooled over the past two days, he had begun to think he had spoken too hastily. It seemed the girls agreed. 

He caught his breath when he heard Lucie’s next words. “I think I should tell you this, as your soon-to-be sister. After Thomas told Alastair off, I ran after Alastair out in front of the Institute, to make sure he was all right. Cordelia…he was crying! I don’t believe anyone who was not absolutely heartbroken about what he had done would have reacted like that. He was devastated.”

Thomas’s hand flew to his mouth to cover it as bile rose up in the back of his throat. He gagged in horror. Strong, brave, haughty Alastair had been crying?! By the Angel, this was all his fault. He had hurt the other boy, who had only been trying to extend his hand in friendship. Thomas had never made another person cry in his whole life. He felt ill, like he might be sick right there in the hallway outside Lucie’s room. He froze when he caught Cordelia’s response.

“Oh Lucie, that makes what happened to my brother even more heartbreaking than I can bear!” 

Another swish of skirts and Lucie’s voice drew closer to her almost-parabatai. “Whatever do you mean, Cordelia? The boys were quite cruel to him but after what Alastair told them he said—”

“It’s not that. It’s what happened before—and I daresay it was the reason he tried to make amends with the boys. He’s been lonely for so long and feels unloved.”

Lucie exclaimed that Cordelia should tell her the details, sounding genuinely concerned about her friend’s brother. Thomas, hand still over his mouth to stifle the sound of his breath, inched closer to the door.

Cordelia spoke again, voice soft and swift. “I must have your absolute word, as my parabatai-to-be, who will be as dear to me as my own sister, that what I tell you is with the upmost confidence that you will never breathe a word of it to another soul as long as you live.”

Lucie let out a little breathless laugh with the excitement of it all, but she quickly sobered and Thomas heard her clasp Cordelia’s hand. “My darling Cordelia, you have my word. On my honor as a Shadowhunter and a writer.” 

Then, while Thomas listened with rapt attention, Cordelia quietly revealed the most shocking thing yet—the conversation she had been witness to between Alastair and Charles. Thomas’s stomach churned with nerves at what he was hearing and he hazarded taking out his stele and drawing a soundless rune on his inner wrist to make sure he wouldn’t be detected by the ladies. As he drew, his mind raced. It took him a moment to realize that the shock of Cordelia’s words had not come from the fact that Alastair had loved Charles, but that Charles had only been using him. Thomas suspected that somewhere, in the back of his mind, he had already known Alastair and Charles were a couple. He had hardly seen one without the other since Alastair had arrived in London. And that night, when he had gone to the Fairchild’s to make the antidote and Alastair was there with Charles in simple shirtsleeves, his arms bare…And the touch they almost shared before Charles left…The realization made Thomas’s heart clench behind his ribs.

When Cordelia was finished, there was a pause while she awaited Lucie’s reply. What she had confessed was one of her brother’s deepest secrets, and now she had unwittingly exposed a third person as well. 

“Oh, poor Alastair!” Lucie cried. “I always knew Charles had a beastly personality, but I never thought him capable of betraying someone so—someone he was supposed to love. And those ridiculous engagements to Ariadne and Grace just to hide behind them so he could keep his career. Disgraceful! He and Grace certainly deserve one another; they’re both the worst type of heart breakers. Oh, your poor brother!”

It was not the response Thomas had expected but his chest warmed a little with love for the James’s open-hearted sister. Cordelia sounded like she felt the same. “Are you not shocked about their relationship? I must admit I didn’t know anything of it until just a little while ago when I accidentally saw them together.” Thomas’s mind abruptly began a wild speculation about what Cordelia’s tone meant when she said she saw them together.

“Goodness, no!” Lucie said with determination. “I know loving someone of the same sex is not exactly fashionable and it is certainly frowned upon by the Clave, but I firmly believe that love is love no matter what body you are in. Besides, I’ve known people like Magnus Bane, and Matthew and Anna my whole life and they are so dear to me nothing could make me dislike them, least of all whom they prefer to step out with.” Lucie paused. “Does it bother you?” she asked quietly.

Cordelia was quiet for a moment. “I honestly hadn’t thought about that. I just know that it could get Alastair into a lot of trouble. And I was certainly more shocked because of my accidental discovery while my brother and Charles we having an intimate moment. But you’re right; nothing so silly as that could make me love my brother any less. It was actually nice, seeing him be so tender with someone. I thought he had lost that side of himself.”

Lucie hummed thoughtfully. “Well, good riddance to Charles at the very least. If he’s content making himself unhappy just to keep his career, so be it!” she declared. “I wonder if Alastair will find someone else. Perhaps Matthew could introduce him to someone.”

Cordelia’s laugh was light and she sounded more relaxed. “Are you playing Matchmaker, Lucie?”

“Well, we’ve got one Carstairs almost married off—why not try for a second?”

Thomas couldn’t listen anymore. He had already heard too much private information about too many people. He hurried off towards the kitchen, his mind racing as it replayed the conversation that he had witnessed.

It gave him a lot to think about, combined with the thoughts that had already been floating about in the back of his mind the past couple of days. Before the disaster at the engagement part, Thomas had been aware that he was beginning to care deeply for Alastair. Now he had to wrap that revelation around new information: Alastair preferred men. Not only that, but Alastair had been in love with Charles Fairchild, but had just broken things off with him. That thought brought a flutter to his chest, something skin to relief and expectation. Then Thomas was hit by the memory of being cruel to Alastair and the knowledge that the other boy had run from the room in tears. 

Thomas felt gutted by that news, as though Alastair had swept his spear across his belly and all his insides poured out in a painful, shameful heap. He’d deserve it, too, the way he had spoken to Alastair after what he’d already been through that evening. Not that Thomas could possibly have known, but he had wanted to take his ruthless words back the moment Alastair had run from him. 

The only thing that pulled Thomas back from the brink of despair was the knowledge that there were people like Lucie and Cordelia who firmly believed that love was love and stood by their friends and family like Thomas had already stood by Anna and Matthew. Perhaps Alastair would be all right after all…As soon as he thought that, Thomas knew it wasn’t true. He knew Alastair probably better than anyone, except his family and maybe Charles Fairchild. Alastair would simply build his walls higher until it was impossible for anyone to get past them again. Least of all Thomas, whom Alastair must now think hated him. Which, Thomas admitted, was the farthest thing from the truth.

Thomas couldn’t rest after that. He spent the next few days training with renewed ferocity and brooding in his usually-empty house. He’d been through so much in such a short amount of time lately. First Eugenia being disgraced and moving to Idris to recover. Then losing his other sister to an even crueler fate. He hadn’t had much time to grieve, what with the race to find the antidote to the demon poison. His personal feelings for Alastair of all people should have been the lowest priority in his mind, but it kept nagging at him. The memory of what he had said to Alastair. How the other boy had been reaching out to Thomas and his friends in tentative friendship and they had soundly rejected him. He had admitted to spreading the rumors about both Thomas and Matthew; at least he had honestly owned up to his mistakes. And Thomas remembered the soft touch of Alastair’s fingers on the skin of his forearm, tracing his tattoo…

The more Thomas thought about it, looking back to his time at the Academy, the more he remembered what had drawn him to Alastair in the first place. He’d heard sordid rumors as well, rumors about a boy with dark skin and dark hair and speculation about why his family moved so much from place to place. Rather than scare him off, the rumors about Alastair had intrigued Thomas, who had never been anywhere other than London and Idris. He sought Alastair out and despite the boy’s sullen attitude, he’d reluctantly welcomed Thomas’s fascination with him. He would patiently tell Thomas stories of his travels and of his little sister, even when the rest of his friends got tired of hearing them. Even then, Thomas had felt drawn to Alastair. 

Finally, he could leave it no longer. Thomas was still furious with his new knowledge of Alastair’s actions in the past, but he felt that he had acted in anger at the party, fueled by Matthew’s own drunken tirade. He’d stood with Alastair through his other cruel acts; he could at least hear him out about what he had done years ago and was clearly repentant about. And, if nothing else mattered, he couldn’t forget how Alastair had stood up to Charles for him (Charles, who had been Alastair’s lover!), insisted that he be allowed entry to the lab in the Consul’s home so he could make the cure in Christopher’s stead. And he had stayed by Thomas, helping and encouraging. In a way, he had helped save the lives of all the Shadowhunters who were poisoned. Thomas was determined that, somehow, he had to fix things between them.


	3. Encounter (Thomas)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to share this chapter! It's a bit longer than the others, but I think of those as more of a prologue and this is starting the main plot. The boys are back together! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and commented--you are all so kind and it helps me keep this story going! <3
> 
> One last note, any historical inaccuracies or misuse of the Persian language are all my bad, so let me know if there's anything that needs changing ;)

Chapter 3: Encounter (Thomas)

Thomas wasn’t sure what sort of welcome would await him at 102 Cornwall Gardens when he made his way there on a drizzly afternoon nearly a week after the engagement party. He was quite familiar with Alastair’s defense mechanism of anger and nonchalant indifference and he was determined to power through it so they could have an honest conversation. For better or worse, they needed to clear their air between them for good. When he arrived, he stood a while on the front doorstep, thinking back over when he wanted to say. Finally, he raised his hand and rapped smartly on the door. 

Thomas was surprised to find that instead of the family’s servant answering the door, Alastair was suddenly in front of him. The other boy glowered up at Thomas with venom in his black eyes. Thomas was the taller of the two, but he felt small when faced with Alastair’s obvious rage.

“What are you doing here, Lightwood?” he demanded. “Come to spout more rumors from the mouth of a Fairchild? I can tell you from experience, that whole family is not to be trusted.”

It hurt to be spoken to like that, but Thomas knew he deserved the other boy’s wrath. He let it wash over him, focused on what he had come here to do. “May I come in a moment? I’d like to talk.”

“Certainly not,” Alastair said, and started to close the door. Impulsively, Thomas used his size and considerable muscles to force his way in. He crowded Alastair back into the entryway and the other boy nearly tripped over a hat stand. “Watch yourself, you big oaf! I meant it when I said you were on your way to being offensively tall.”

“I just want to talk, Alastair,” Thomas pleaded, reaching out to shut the front door behind him. “Please, just hear me out and then if you want me to leave I will.”

Alastair’s lip curled, his black eyes narrowed dangerously, but whatever he was about to say he must have thought better of it. With a growl, he motioned sharply for Thomas to follow him into the front parlor, just off the entryway. When they were both in, he slammed the sliding door shut behind them and rounded on Thomas.

“Say your piece, Lightwood, then get out of my house. You made it quite clear that you never wanted to see me again so I’m all astonishment as to why you’ve barged your way in here, unless it’s to make good on what you promised if you ever saw me again. I must say that I don’t fancy a swim in the Thames in this weather.” He arms were folded tightly over his chest, but he looked more defensive than cross. It gave Thomas the slightest bit of hope. He stepped to the other side of the room though, just to be safe. If Alastair wanted to hit him after what he was about to say, Thomas at least wanted a chance to defend himself.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry for the way I treated you at the engagement party. I know you were trying to make amends with us and we were cruel to you. I accept your apology for what you did at the Academy.”

Alastair looked truly astonished for a moment before his expression closed off again. “I can’t imagine why.”

Thomas tried not to let his frustration show. He was trying to be the gentleman but Alastair was not making it easy. He decided to be more direct, even if he was afraid of Alastair’s reaction. “I’ve already lost my sister and I almost lost Christopher. I can’t stand to lose one more person I care about.”

The other boy scoffed. He leaned back against the drawing room door, tilting his chin up haughtily. Thomas could see there was stubble on his usually clean jawline and the underside of his eyes was puffy and dark. He hadn’t been sleeping—that made two of them. “You don’t care about me,” Alastair proclaimed.

“I do!” Thomas insisted, reaching out uselessly with his hands. “I think what you did at the Academy was hurtful and petty. The things you said about me being sickly because my mother was a mundane and my father turning to Charlotte...” Thomas tried to calm his trembling voice—it still pained him to think of how rumors like that had burdened his family, even when his friends had tried to keep the worst of it from him. Even so, it was in the past and only the present mattered to him now.

He rallied and continued, “But I’m starting to see why you did it. I saw a lot of things during my training year in Madrid and I’ve learned how sheltered my friends and I have been. When we got to the Academy, we were shocked to find not everyone was as sweet and loving as our families, but people are diverse.” Thomas took a breath and walked just one step closer, pleading with the other boy to understand his meaning. Alastair stood his ground but seemed entranced by what he was saying. 

“I think that you are actually a good person,” Thomas continued, “and the reason you acted so haughty and spread rumors was to protect yourself from about rumors about you and your family. I-I heard some about you while I was there. About why you all moved so much. About your heritage. About your father and his drinking...And I’m beginning to think at least that one was true and that you have been going through much more than anyone knows.” 

Thomas faltered to a stop. He hadn’t meant to say quite so much. It was still such a raw subject between them. He searched Alastair’s face, his posture, seeking out any hint of how the other boy was receiving his words.

Alastair sneered and pushed himself away from the door, advancing closer as well but much more menacingly. Thomas abruptly remembered that Alastair kept several spears concealed in his jacket. “What is your point, Lightwood? I was vile to your family at the Academy and I have my own family hardships that I prefer to keep private. That should give you no reason in particular to like me.”

“True,” said Thomas honestly. He liked having Alastair closer to him, even if he moved with the prowling grace of a great, hungry cat. They were both nearly in the center of the room now, as if gravity was pulling them together. “But I have solid evidence to the contrary. First, your sister, who has become as dear a part of my life as the rest of my family and friends, loves you and admires you. I need no more proof than that that you are worth my care and respect as well. I’m a good judge of character and I trust that my first instincts about you were right.” 

He always had been able to read people well. And despite what Alastair thought, Thomas could see right through his façade. The more Alastair liked someone, the harder he pushed them away. He must fear that letting someone close was only allowing them a better range from which to strike him with cruel accuracy. He’d clearly been hurt before by those he had let into his heart and it grieved Thomas to think about him carrying around that much pain with him.

His words must have sparked something in Alastair because he lashed out again, though perhaps with less vehemence than before. “I grow tired of your prattling. You said you never wanted me to speak to you again and I am trying to grant your request.” His words were hard, but Thomas noticed that Alastair’s black eyes would not meet his own. It was an easy tell for when the other boy was lying and it gave him another flicker of hope. Perhaps he was finally wearing through the castle walls Alastair had built around himself, like his namesake suggested. Persistence seemed to be the key. That, and no one could resist Thomas when he really turned on his kind charm.

Thomas offered him a smile. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. You will come to know this about me: I can be very stubborn. Once I decide on something, nothing can persuade me otherwise. And I am determined to make things right with you.”

Alastair remained unconvinced. But he also remained where he stood in the middle of the room, only a few feet away from where Thomas was standing. “So, you want to be friends, is that it? Well, I don’t care to be friends with you.”

Thomas knew it was now or never to reveal the true reason he had come today. To confess the feelings that had been slowly building inside of him for so long now. He took another two steps forward, bringing himself within touching distance of Alastair.

“Not…friends.” 

The other boy’s dark eyes widened a little as they locked with Thomas’s earnest hazel. 

“I’ve also begun realizing things about myself since Paris. And, the way I feel about you is beyond friends. It’s stronger and it keeps growing. I like you, Alastair.” He didn’t have the words to say how he felt and he prayed that Alastair understood his meaning. Then the words did come to him, something he had read in Persian recently. “Dooset dram.”

The other boy’s perfect eyebrows went up and for a moment his expression softened. “You do?” Thomas had said literally, “I like you,” but it had stronger romantic meaning. Alastair hadn’t even been aware that Thomas knew that much Persian. 

Thomas sagged a little in relief. His recent study of the Persian language with Lucie was paying off. He knew that Alastair liked men, but that had been no guarantee he liked Thomas in particular, though when his recent actions were scrutinized, Thomas had been given reasons to hope his feelings were reciprocated. 

“Yes, I do,” Thomas affirmed with more confidence than he had had thus far. “And I think you like me too.” Alastair was so close it would take nothing for Thomas to reach out and touch him. His fingers burned to try it, to touch another boy for the first time in anything other than friendship, but he held back until he was assured of Alastair’s affections.

Alastair’s expression, so open a moment ago, hardened, but he did not yet step away. “I could have you committed for saying something like that to me,” he remarked.  
Thomas sighed. It was time to confess what he had overheard. He didn’t want there to be any secret between him and Alastair, even if it pained him to admit that he had overheard a private exchange. “I know you prefer men. I know about you and Charles, and that you recently broke things off.”

Shock passed over Alastair’s face, quickly replaced by suspicion. “How?” At least he did not try to deny it.

Thomas hung his head. “I accidentally overheard a conversation,” was all he said, not wanting to reveal Cordelia as his source. 

Alastair’s dark skin paled to the sallow color of spoiled milk. Still he did not move from where he stood. Thomas wished to reach out to him, to offer comfort, but be doubted it would be well received.

“It doesn’t matter what I heard,” he said instead. “I only say it because it gave me to hope that maybe you could care for me the way I do for you.”

Alastair was silent for several moments, his expression closely guarded. When he spoke his voice was stiff when he snapped, “If you care so much about me, then prove it. Kiss me. Now.”

Thomas startled a little at the vehemence of the order. Then he shook his head sadly, casting his hazel eyes down. “Must you be so cruel?” Alastair had to know or at least guess that Thomas had yet to kiss anyone. The younger boy knew that all that cruelty was an act, a defense against future pain, but it still hurt Thomas that Alastair would force it upon him as well, especially after his confession. 

Still, it was not an entirely unwelcome order. Thomas would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about kissing Alastair. In fact, he’d thought about it a lot in the past several days, and even fleetingly after their meeting in Paris, though at the time he had not known precisely why.

“Do it now, or be gone from my life.” Alastair’s face had turned hard and unreadable but the slight tremble in his clenched fists betrayed him. It seemed to Thomas that Alastair knew with absolute certainty that his attitude would drive Thomas off for good and the part of him that feared rejection was at war with the smaller, more hopeful part that prayed for redemption. It was that small, hopeful part of Alastair that had drawn Thomas to him from the start. It drew him now, as he took the final step between them so they stood a breath away from one another. He could feel the heat from the other boy, smell his spiced cologne, see the exact color of his eyes, just a slight shade lighter than the pupils, which were blown wide.

“Do it,” Alastair taunted again, but it sounded more like a prayer.

So, Thomas kissed him. 

And it was fire. 

Thomas had meant to simply bend and press his mouth to Alastair’s, just firm enough to prove his desire before pulling away. Instead, the moment their lips touched, every active rune on Thomas’s body burned to life. Equilibrium. Clarity. Calm Anger. Fearless. 

And then he hissed in surprise when he felt the familiar pain of a new rune being etched into his inner arm where he knew no rune had been drawn before. Alastair made a pained noise as well, but instead of pulling away from him to investigate, the other boy pulled Thomas closer by digging his fingers into his waistcoat. The kiss sizzled like heat lightning between them and Thomas leaned into it, chasing the feeling. He was chest-to-chest with Alastair and he could feel the other boy’s heart rabbiting beneath his ribs, matching Thomas’s beat for fleeting beat. 

Finally, Thomas had to draw breath and he threw his head back with a gasp, like breaking the surface of a lake after a long underwater swim. Alastair attacked his throat like a starved vampire with lips and teeth and Thomas groaned, letting him. Alastair’s mouth traced a rune on his neck. Then, as the fresh air reached his brain, Thomas remembered the burning of the new rune and reached out to gently direct Alastair away from him.

“My arm,” Thomas panted. He pulled up his shirt sleeve and looked down to see that black lines had appeared, tracing a fresh rune. Alastair silently stepped back and revealed that the same had happened to him, but in the form of a different Mark. For Thomas it was below the crease of his left elbow, just above his tattoo of a compass rose, and for Alastair, the same position on his right arm. They each had to tilt their heads to read them since the runes had appeared upside down—almost as if the boys had written them on each other.

“Agape...unconditional love.” Alastair fixed his black eyes on the new rune, then looked up at Thomas with unhidden awe. “Is this truly how you feel?”

Thomas tore his own gaze from where he’d been studying his Mark. It took him a moment to focus on what Alastair was asking. Then his expression softened and he reached up with his other hand to lightly brush it down the other boy’s brown cheek. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” He blushed slightly, but didn't break his earnest gaze. “I’m not sure I would have used the word ‘love’ that strongly straight out of the gate, but I guess runes don’t lie.” 

Alastair, who clearly wasn’t ready to discuss that particular confession at the moment, cleared his throat and reached for Thomas’s muscled arm to get a better look at his rune. It took him a minute to remember the rune’s meaning, since it was one that was very rarely used. When he realized what it meant, and that it looked like he had drawn it, he gasped and dropped Thomas’s arm as though it was a snake that had bitten him.

“What? What is it?” Thomas asked, straining to look at the rune from every angle. “Do you recognize it?”

Alastair ran his hands roughly through his freshly black hair. His voice was tense when he spoke. “It’s Eros. Passionate physical love.” When Thomas gave him a blank look, Alastair elaborated bluntly with a dark shade of red staining his brown cheeks. “Sex, Thomas. Sexual attraction and pleasure.”

Thomas made a small noise of embarrassment and reached up to yank his shirtsleeve down to cover the rune. “By the Angel! Why is there even a rune for that?” Then something more occurred to him. “Wait, is that how you feel about me? You want to do that…with me?” It was a moment later before he realized that Alastair had said his name. It made a little thrill go through him, despite the situation.

Alastair seemed unable to constrain his acerbic personality in the face of such a revelation. But, there seemed to be no point in concealing the truth. He revealed it with bitter honesty. “Of course it is, you giant half-wit. You’re gorgeous and kind and you’ve always stood by me, though Angel knows why. I want to do nasty things to you and listen to you scream for me loud enough to wake the City of Bones. Kharâbetam.” I’m ruined for you. It described fairly accurately how Thomas felt as well.

The taller boy gulped down several deep breaths and went to fall gracefully down into an armchair that was situated near the empty fireplace. Alastair, seemingly drawn to him, came over and sank down to the floor before Thomas, kneeling beside his legs, facing him. He smiled wickedly. “Not quite what you expected when you came barging in here, is it?”

Thomas rested his head against the back of the chair. “Do drop the superior act. I’m just getting a headache.” Just because he loved the other boy didn’t mean he was going to put up with his attitude. Especially not know, when what they felt for each other was literally written on their skin. “We have to figure out what’s going on. When I kissed you, all my runes activated and then this one appeared. I’ve never kissed anyone before, but I’m guessing that’s not normal.”

“It is not,” Alastair confirmed. His voice held a hint of pride—at being Thomas’s first kiss, he assumed.

“I’ve never even heard of runes appearing without being drawn,” Thomas went on in his shell-shocked tone of voice. Focusing on the mystery forestalled him having to think about any physical relations he may or may not be considering with Alastair. “I’ll have to consult the Institute library. Maybe Christopher could run some tests-”

“You are most certainly not telling your friends about this!” Alastair nearly shouted. He composed himself and added, “If Matthew Fairchild or James Herondale got wind of this--” he reached out to run his hand down Thomas’s arm, surprisingly gently despite his tone of voice, “They’ll have my guts for garters. And then Cordelia would run me through. And then my mother. And then Gideon Lightwood.”

“There would be quite a queue,” Thomas confirmed. He leaned forward to look down at Alastair, enjoying the feeling of his warm fingers on his arm. It was as it had been in Paris when he had told Alastair about his desire to get a tattoo there. How he now longed for that simpler time, when it was just the two of them, with no interruptions or obligations.

“We’ll keep it between us, then. But I think I should do some research, maybe ask Uncle Jem—without giving him the details.”

Alastair scoffed. “My cousin would never help me. He thinks I hate him.”

Thomas sighed. It was becoming easier to count the number of people who didn’t hate the boy he loved rather than those who did. Alastair had certainly dug himself a very deep hole. But Thomas was determined to help him out of it, kicking and screaming if necessary. Because he deserved it. Screaming made him think of Alastair’s earlier comment and he squirmed. 

“I’ll ask him for me.” On impulse, because he’d been wanting to do it since Paris, he reached out and touched Alastair’s thick, silky hair.

“I like the black much better than the blonde,” he said softly. To his surprise, the other boy leaned into his touch, arching like a cat being stroked. Thomas took courage and threaded his fingers through the black strands. “This is nice, being here like this.”

Alastair opened his mouth to make what was most likely another sarcastic comment, but Thomas tugged gently on his hair and Alastair restrained himself.

“I should probably be going,” Thomas said after a few more moments of peace. “I promised James and Math I would train with them this afternoon. This was...an impulsive visit.”

He wasn’t sure which part of what he had said translated to ‘kiss me more before I leave.’ but he held still as Alastair stood and then, slowly, giving Thomas the option to deny him, climbed onto the chair with him. He settled with his knees on either side of Thomas’s body and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. 

It was even more difficult when Alastair slotted his mouth over Thomas’s and devoured him. Thomas’s runes tingled again but no more spontaneously appeared. He moaned and his hands found their way to Alastair’s knees, rubbing lightly as their lips moved against one another’s. When Alastair settled his weight down on Thomas’s legs, he shuddered and gasped into the other boy’s mouth. He wondered briefly if Alastair had done this with Charles or anyone else but he forcibly pushed the thought out of his mind. It didn’t do to dwell on the past and Charles was firmly in Alastair’s past.

A cart clattering loudly by outside the window startled the boys apart. Alastair sat up sharply, wiping his wet mouth with the back of his hand. “You should go. My mother and sister will return soon from the market.” His words were quick but his body was reluctant to remove itself from Thomas. Finally he stood and, as an afterthought, offered Thomas his hand. Thomas took it and even after he leveled his height out of the chair, he kept his fingers wrapped around Alastair’s.

“Let me know if you find out anything,” Alastair said, not looking at him.

Thomas opened his mouth to agree, but what came out was, “Would you like to come for tea tomorrow?”

Alastair whipped his head up to look at him, gob smacked. 

“Or, if you’d rather, we could take it elsewhere in the city,” Thomas quickly amended. He thought Alastair may not be thrilled to face any of his family at the moment. After several moments of silence, Thomas was afraid the other boy would refuse entirely. Then he felt the barest of squeezes around his fingers before Alastair let go of his hand. 

“I’ll come round,” he said, voice strained but determined. It seemed he was done sulking. He sounded ready to face the consequences of his actions as a younger lad if it meant he got to be near Thomas.

Thomas grinned at him, happier and lighter than he had felt in weeks. “Excellent. I’ll see you then.”


	4. Tea (Alastair)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, THANK YOU everyone who has left such kind comments on this story! Sorry it's been a while since the last post, work has kept me busy at home as well as a small renovation project. But, here's a new chapter--I hope you like it! As always, let me know what you'd like to see, any suggestions. I'm still writing the last few chapters, figuring out the finer points.

Chapter 4: Tea (Alastair)

The next day, Alastair had second thoughts about going to Thomas’s for tea. And third thoughts. And fourth. By the time he was ready to leave, about half past three, he had picked up and replaced his gloves and hat several times, changing his mind about going or staying. In the end he forced himself to leave his home in Kensington and walk in the direction of the Lightwoods’. He made it there just before four and was greeted at the door by Thomas. He suspected very much that the younger boy had been waiting for him just inside the entryway and he tried not to think about how touching it was that Thomas was so excited to see him again.

“This way,” Thomas said, and motioned for Alastair to follow him into a handsomely furnished drawing room. The room faced out the east side of the house so the bright afternoon light did not overpower the occupants. The wallpaper was ivory with swirling silver accents and the drapes on the windows were deep burgundy. A dark pianoforte sat in one corner of the room across from a writing desk and large potted palm plant. It spoke of taste, elegance, and old money.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Thomas said after shutting the door to the room. Alastair went to the pink sofa and seated himself, lying his hat beside him. He was surprised when Thomas came to sit next to him, rather than on any other chair in the room. To be fair, the tea service was set out on the round table in front of them so they could both easily reach it.

Alastair noticed that Thomas looked very nice. He was wearing a hunter green waistcoat that highlighted the colors of his hazel eyes. His dove grey pinstriped trousers fit him very well. He smelled delicious, a light fruity scent, almost like…jam? Alastair noticed the Victoria sandwiches on the one of the plates and let a grin spread across his face. They were slightly lopsided and crumbly and there was red jam leaking out the sides. Clearly Thomas made had them himself. For him. It made Alastair want to press Thomas down into the sofa, climb atop him and…

“Thank you for your invitation,” he said formally, finally looking at Thomas. 

The other boy smiled, like he was genuinely happy to see him. It was a look Alastair was used to getting only from his sister and occasionally his mother. 

“Of course. I honestly wasn’t sure you’d come, but I’m glad you did.” He reached out to take up the teapot and fill a cup for Alastair. “How do you like your tea? Sugar?”

“Just lemon,” Alastair said. Thomas complied with a grin (Alastair’s sour expression often reminded him of lemons) adding a thin slice of lemon to his cup before handing it over. Alastair sipped his tea as he watched Thomas prepare his own cup—a dash of cream and far too much sugar. “You really didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

“I wanted to,” Thomas told him. “I don’t get to have friends over often.”

“What about the other ruffians you consort with?”

Thomas chuckled. “Yes, but they’re family so I don’t usually bother doing anything nice. They eat much too fast and loudly to bother with lady fingers or anything. But,” he ducked his head with a self-deprecating grin. “I like cooking so it’s nice to have something to treat. My mother taught me her recipes.” Alastair knew very well that Thomas’s mother, formally Sophie Collins, had been a mundane maid at the London Institute before marrying Gideon Lightwood and drinking from the Mortal Cup to become a Nephilim. He also knew Thomas was giving him this information and trusting him to be civil about it. It went against Alastair’s very nature. 

“Well, you seem to be at least a passable student,” he remarked, helping himself to one of the sandwiches. Thomas watched as he tried it. The presentation was not perfect but the taste was divine. He helped himself to another. “My compliments to your mother; she’s a good teacher.”

He flinched when Thomas suddenly reached out to him and then sat utterly still as the other boy pressed his thumb to the corner of his mouth. He brought it away with a smudge of jam. “You looked like a vampire,” he said playfully. Then he stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked off the jam. Alastair swallowed hard and busied himself with sipping his tea.

After a few awkward moments, Alastair brought up the subject of an art exhibition he had heard about that was coming to town and their conversation took off from there. The two of them had had the chance to catch up a little at the party when Alastair and his family first came to London, but it had been stilted and on stolen time. Now, they spoke easily and freely with one another, just as they had in Paris. There was a lot to catch each other up on and Alastair listened earnestly as Thomas talked about his travel year, getting his tattoo, various occupations and things that caught his interest like art, music, and languages. Usually Alastair tended to tune other people out after a while, but Thomas kept his interest.

When they had finished their tea and took a break from conversation, Thomas noticed Alastair glancing longingly at the pianoforte. Alastair didn’t think Thomas played and couldn’t imagine Gideon Lightwood sitting down to make music. Perhaps Thomas’s mother or one of his sisters used it. Or, it was merely there for decoration and a symbol of their class. 

“Do you play?” Thomas asked presently.

Alastair held himself back from spouting some sarcastic remark, but then nodded. “A little,” he said modestly. “We brought ours from Cirenworth but I haven’t had a chance to play much and yours is very fine…”

“Go ahead,” Thomas said, motioning to the instrument. “It should still be in tune. I’d like to hear you play.”

Alastair hesitated but he could not resist the other boy’s earnest expression, so he walked over and seated himself at the piano. There were no music sheets to be seen, but he didn’t need any. He selected a concerto he knew by heart and pressed his long fingers to the keys. With a deep, steadying breath, he began to play.

When he had been young, playing music had been a great joy to him. He supposed something of a musical talent ran through his family. Everyone was always speaking about how his cousin Jem had been so proficient on the violin. After his time at the Academy, even music had failed to hold the same joy for him. He was scarred from his time there, his heart grown cold, his temperament bitter. He had also learned truths about himself that could get him killed were he to share them. What was music to a heart that could never love whom it chose? He stilled played occasionally for his mother and sister, but it had lost its luster.

Thomas brought it all back. Alastair could still play well enough that he barely needed to look at the keys and he spent most of the movement glancing up to see Thomas watching him with admiration. The other boy had stretched out, a bent elbow propping his head up on the arm of the sofa as he relaxed and listened. Playing for such a captive audience was quite a boost to Alastair’s ego—he had always liked being well-regarded and the center of attention and there was no one’s attention he wanted to captivate more than the boy in this room.

He was nearly though his second piece when the door to the parlor opened.

Gideon Lightwood came in. “Thomas, is that you playing—?” He stopped short when he saw not his son at the pianoforte, but the boy who had spread awful rumors about his family. Thomas bolted up from where he had been lying on the couch.

“What is he doing in our home?” Gideon demanded. His green eyes were narrowed in anger.

Alastair stood and quickly went to grab his jacket. To his surprise, he felt Thomas’s large hand on his arm, forestalling him.

“Alastair is here at my invitation. We owe him our gratitude. He was the one who stood up to Charles and made him let me use the laboratory at the Fairchild’s so I could make the poison antidote. Without him Christopher, Ariadne, and the others would still be lost.”

Gideon looked a little gob smacked at his son’s declaration and he stared at Alastair with new, albeit wary interest. But as a Lightwood, he did know something of redemption after his father’s disgrace, so he held off on further unpleasantness for now. “You play well,” he said grudgingly. “Barbara was the only real musical talent in the family. It’s nice to hear the piano being used again.”

Alastair inclined his head respectfully. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “It’s a lovely instrument.”

Gideon sighed. “Yes, well, carry on. Thomas, I came to tell you dinner will be late tonight. I’m on my way to a Clave meeting. Your mother and sister are still at the Institute. We’ll see you this evening.”

Thomas bid his father farewell and when he was gone, turned back to Alastair. “You can stay longer, if you like. Sounds like my whole family has abandoned me for the evening.”

Alastair shrugged on his navy blue coat regretfully. “I must go. I promised I’d pick Cordelia up from Anna’s after tea.” He picked up his hat and gloves and walked over to where Thomas stood by the door. “Thank you, Thomas. This was a nice afternoon.”

The other boy surprised him by blushing a little. “I’m glad you came. I’m happy we got to catch up on things. I…missed you after the Academy and Paris. The world may have gone crazy these past few weeks, but you were always there and I’m glad you’re in London. With me.” He played with the handle of the door, clearly not wanting to open it and let Alastair leave. “I sent a fire message to Uncle Jem after we talked yesterday. Hopefully we’ll be able to meet soon and I can share with you what we—”

He was cut off abruptly as Alastair dropped his belongings on a side table and pushed Thomas’s broad shoulders back against the door. He made a noise of protest before Alastair was on him, pressing close and kissing him fiercely. Alastair was afraid for a moment that he had gone too far, presumed too much, when Thomas didn’t immediately reciprocate. 

But then he felt the tension leave Thomas’s body and his hands came up to tangle themselves in his dark hair. He moaned softly and let Thomas kiss him back, to explore as he hadn’t gotten a chance to do yesterday. The boy had no finesse, but he was eager and unhurried, taking his time learning the taste of his mouth and the sound of his breath. Alastair pressed himself closer into Thomas’s large, muscled body. 

The other boy was having to bend at a slightly sharp angle to keep their mouths together. Finally he huffed in frustration and pulled away. Alastair was momentarily disappointed, but then he felt strong hands at the backs of his legs, urging him up. He pushed his feet off the ground and Thomas lifted him with almost no effort to into his arms. Thomas then flipped their positions so Alastair’s back was to the door, Thomas supporting him, never breaking their frantic kisses. Alastair let his hands roam, up Thomas’s strong back, down his front. He fit his nimble fingers between the buttons of the other boy’s waistcoat, touching the warm cloth of his shirt underneath. He longed to unbutton it, to rip it from Thomas’s shoulders, but he knew if anything further should happen between them, he wanted it to be in a place where they were both comfortable and less exposed. Reluctantly, he kissed Thomas a last time and slid down from his arms.

“I really mustn’t keep Cordelia waiting. If I am not there to fetch her, I fear your cousin will whisk her off to another illicit parlor of questionable morals.”  
Thomas chuckled as he righted his clothes. “I daresay Cordelia is quite capable of handling herself at the Hell Ruelle.”

“That is precisely what I am afraid of,” Alastair remarked. He drew on his gloves and placed his hat on over his dark hair. “Farewell, Thomas.” He paused; farewell was the last thing he wanted to say to the other boy. He thought quickly of how they might spend more time together. “Perhaps…perhaps we can take in some of the sights of London this weekend. I’ve been so busy fighting demons and attending Clave meetings I’ve hardly seen much of the city.”

Thomas nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course! There’s so much to see. I can take you to all my favorite places.”

Alastair hid a smile at his love’s enthusiasm. Thomas was a breath of fresh air in his lonely life. “All right then. I’ll call on you Saturday morning.”


	5. Silence (Thomas)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter became really introspective for Thomas as he works out his feelings for Alastair. They're doing everything backwards and upside down for a typical romantic relationship but I think it suits them as characters. Hope you enjoy this chapter--and a guest appearance by a *certain* Silent Brother <3

Chapter 5: Silence (Thomas) 

On Friday, the day after Thomas had Alastair over for tea, he heard a knock at his bedroom door. He had been sitting at this writing desk. He’d thought of writing to Alastair, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He considered asked Lucie for advice, but he didn’t think that Alastair would appreciate her manner of effusive dialogue and repetitive, flowery description. Perhaps he could send a small gift. A book, then, something in French to remind him of their time in Paris…The knock persisted. Putting his thoughts of letters and gifts away for the moment, Thomas rose to answer his door.

His mother came in, looking softly pleased but confused. “Thomas, Brother Zachariah is here to see you. He says you sent for him?”

“Uncle Jem!” Thomas said happily, striding over to the Silent Brother. The hood of Jem’s parchment robe was pushed back and while his shut eyes were expressionless, the side of his closed mouth quirked up a little. 

_I am pleased to see you again, Thomas._

“Thank you for coming,” Thomas said. He addressed his mother as well. “I asked Uncle Jem to come help me on an experiment I’m working on with Christopher.”

“I see,” said Sophie Lightwood. At this point she knew better than to ask after her nephew’s wild experiments but if her level-headed son was involved it couldn’t be too disastrous. “Well, don’t take too much of Jem’s time.”

Jem inclined his head. _On the contrary, all the Silent Brothers have is time. I’m at your leisure for the afternoon, Thomas._

Sophie gave her old friend a fond smile and left him with her son. The man went over to seat himself at the chair by Thomas’s writing desk.

_Your message was somewhat cryptic, Brother Zachariah said. Would you care to elaborate on this project?_

Thomas tried very hard not to blush and give too much away. “Yes. I apologize for being vague—it seemed like something that needed to be discussed in person.” Jem nodded at him to go on, so Thomas formulated his question in his mind before asking carefully, “Have you ever heard of a rune just appearing on someone’s body? A rune that hadn’t been there before and was drawn without a stele?”

Jem waited a few moments before he responded. It occurred to Thomas that Jem was connected to the Brotherhood and might be gathering responses from them as well. _I take it this is more than just an academic interest?_ Jem finally said.

Thomas sighed; it was impossible to fool the Silent Brother. “Yes. It is.” He found himself rubbing his forearm where the Eros Mark was still on his skin. He’d hoped fruitlessly that it might have faded, but it had been three days and it was still black and clear as fresh ink.

_It is not an occurrence I have heard of, no. May I ask about the circumstances during which this occurred?_

Thomas had thought about his answer to this question as well. “I was…kissing someone. For, er, the first time.”

 _I see. Can you describe the experience? As it pretrains to the rune, of course._ Thomas wasn’t sure, since Jem’s voice was only in his mind, but he felt that he detected a hint of amusement. 

Thomas cleared his throat and looked down to realize he was still rubbing at the rune. He made himself stop and look at the Silent Brother. “When I kissed them, all my active runes burned for a moment. Then I felt a new one being drawn on my arm. A Mark appeared on their arm as well, but it is different than mine.”

Jem leaned forward in interest. _May I ask what the runes are?_

Thomas fidgeted. “I’d prefer the whole Silent City didn’t know. Or, um, my parents. At least until we know more about it. Forgive me, I know that’s not helpful.”

 _I understand_ , Jem said, sitting back again, giving Thomas a little space. _Everyone is entitled to his secrets. What if I promised to keep this information from my Brothers? Would you feel comfortable telling just me? It’s all right if you don’t, but it might give me more to work with._

The boy pursed his lips, thinking. Alastair would throw him in the Thames if he found out that Thomas had told anyone. But, it was not as if Jem would know who Thomas had been kissing. He could have been kissing anyone. Plus, they both needed answers. 

Thomas nodded. “I trust you, Uncle Jem.” He took a breath, let it out slowly, then unbuttoned his shirt sleeve and pushed the material up past his elbow. He went to stand before Jem and extended his arm to him. The compass rose tattoo was bright against his skin and there, just above it, was the Eros Mark.

Jem slowly touched the rune with pale fingertips, tracing it lightly. _Ah. I see why you might be inclined to keep this particular rune private. Can you tell me what rune appeared on the other person?_

“Agape. Same position but on their right arm.” Lucky bastard, he added silently.

Jem nodded in thought. _Do you have a theory as to why these runes in particular appeared? You said this was your first time kissing one another?_

“Yes, it was. We, uh, thought perhaps the runes represent how we feel about each other, as if we had drawn the runes on each other. It is strange that these tunes in particular appeared. since we had only just confessed our feelings for one another—and not quite so intensely. But either way, this shouldn’t be possible!”

 _I have seen many strange things_ , Jem mused. _But nothing like this…Have you two done anything more intimate together?_

Thomas was sure at this point he was going to sweat through his clothes with nerves. He had known to expect such questions if he wanted answers but this was all so new to him and he was beyond embarrassed. But he knew only honesty could get him answers. 

“No, we’ve only kissed a few times since. Nothing strange has happened after that first time, though. The rest has just been, ah, normal. I think. Wait, do you suppose more runes would appear if we did…move things along?” It was especially strange talking about this to a Silent Brother, who was forbidden from engaging in any such activity.

 _That I cannot answer_ , Jem said carefully. _I would only caution you to wait until you are both sure you are ready to ‘move things along’._ He rubbed his fingers contemplatively along the runes on his staff.

The boy blinked at the advice, but then smiled shyly. “Thank you, Uncle Jem. We will. Do you have any ideas about the runes?”

_A few. Would it be possible to talk to your partner? I get the feeling you wish to keep their identity a secret as well._

Thomas hesitated. Perhaps if Jem talked to Alastair, he would have a better idea of what had happened and how, if possible, to fix it. But Thomas wasn’t sure he was ready to anyone to know about the two of them. 

_Is it because you are both male?_

Thomas froze, looking down at the man with shock. He sat down abruptly on the edge of his bed, his heart beginning to beat faster in his chest. “How did you know?”

Jem’s lips quirked up again, and he tilted his head toward Thomas warmly. _You mean, aside from the fact you haven’t said your partner’s name and avoided gendered pronouns? And spoke so casually of having sex, which would be quite scandalous with an unwed woman but not of as much concern with another man. He breathed out a silent chuckle. You are too honest a person, Thomas, to keep much a secret. Do not worry, you are not alone in your preferences and I think no different of you than I had before._ Jem paused. _No, I think more of you. I’m proud you are comfortable loving whom you like._

Relief twisted and released in Thomas’s stomach and he relaxed a little. He wasn’t sure he’d get the same assurances from other people he knew, but he was happy to find that his trust in Jem had been well-placed. “Do you think us both being male has anything to do with the runes?”

_Has anything like this happened to others? Your friend Matthew? Your cousin Anna?_

“Not that I’ve heard. I’m fairly certain that Matthew would never shut up about it if he kissed a boy and got a shocking rune for his troubles. Same with Anna if I’m being honest. I guess I am the ‘lucky’ one.”

 _Perhaps you are,_ Jem mused. _If the feelings you have for each other were truly strong enough to create new runes, then that is lucky indeed. Rare and precious._ He paused, letting Thomas collect himself, then asked, _Would he allow me to ask him some questions?_

“I doubt it. He thinks you hate him.” Thomas gasped and put a hand to his mouth. Had he said too much? He had been so relieved to be able to talk to Jem without secrets he forgot he had one more to keep: his lover’s identity. Maybe Jem wouldn’t know who he was talking about. Maybe—

_Alastair!_

Maybe Jem was much more observant than Thomas had anticipated. 

“Please, Uncle Jem, you can’t tell anyone. He doesn’t want anyone to know!”

_He thinks I hate him?_

Thomas paused. Jem sounded almost sad. He wrung his hands together, not sure if he could reveal anything more about Alastair. “He told me he was cruel to you in the past. That he rejected your company. I don’t think it was personal,” Thomas added hastily, not wanting to hurt Jem more. “I’ve noticed that he tends to push away the people he’s most afraid of getting close to. But he’s changed. I’m certain that if you reached out to him, he would be happy to see you, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

Jem gave him as fond a look as a Silent Brother was capable of giving. _I’m beginning to see why he got the Agape Mark from you. Thank you for caring for my cousin. He always seemed to me that he was in a lot of pain. I only wished to be of help to him._

Thomas’s lips curved into a smile as he thought about the boy he loved. He may be prickly as a hedgehog, but once he got beneath the armor, there was the sweet, sensitive, strong-willed person that had fascinated him from the first time they met. “He needs more people that love him. I think he’s survived on so little for so long. Just Cordelia and their mother. I’ll do my best to make him happy.”

Jem nodded, seeming deep in thought. _Talk to him, and let him know I would like to see him. Come with him, if you like. I will continue to keep your secrets as long as you need me to._

After Jem left, Thomas was alone with his thoughts. He was still a little stunned by his uncle’s reaction to everything he had revealed to him. Well, to be perfectly honest, one thing in particular. Telling Jem that he had been kissing a boy, and sharing with the Silent Brother what runes he and Alastair now had, he could very well have expected a more negative response. He knew the people of his intimate acquaintance, family and friends, were in the minority in how accepting they were of people like Anna and Matthew. Among the Clave and other parts of polite society, the Love the Dared Not Speak Its Name did well to hide itself and kept to certain circles. 

Thomas had also noticed that in the Downworld, homosexuality or anything else that deviated from the norm, was much more acceptable, if powerful people like Hypatia Vex and Magnus Bane were any proof. Though, Thomas supposed that Downworlders were used to being seen as lesser or wrong somehow, so vampirism or lycanthropy, or being the child of a demon rather eclipsed the secret of with whom one shared a bed. 

Thomas wasn’t sure how he felt about everything. Jem had been kind to him, encouraging even, but Thomas wasn’t sure he would get the same reception from everyone else. Charles Fairchild certainly hadn’t thought so, or Alastair. What confounded matters was that Thomas wasn’t even certain he was one of them. He liked Alastair, he knew that much, but beyond that was a part of himself he had not yet figured out.

And now things were more of a mess that they had been before he confronted Alastair. Lately his life seemed like one disaster after another it and it was difficult to keep up. Thomas hadn’t had much time to think about anything other than the mysterious rune and how he had strong feelings towards Alastair. 

Before that, he’d never really given much thought to love. Thomas been focused most of his life on his health and training and, between his multitude of friends and family, he’d not felt the need to seek love elsewhere. Girls had not interested him, but neither had he looked twice at a boy. Not until the clever, dark haired, exotic boy he met at the Academy. Thomas supposed he had harbored romantic feelings for Alastair even back then at the Academy, but just hadn’t understood the full extent of what was brewing inside of him. 

In Paris Thomas’s regard for Alastair had deepened further, but it had still not clicked for him that he cared for Alastair as more than a friend. Rather than the immediate burning passion his cousin Lucie wrote about in her novels, his love for Alastair had developed slowly over time until it recently blossomed into what he felt so strongly now. It was only in the past few weeks that he began to realize that he was like his cousin Anna and that only boys could turn his head—and one boy in particular. There hadn’t been much time for contemplating his growing identity with everything else that was going on. 

Now that he did think about it, he wasn’t sure how he felt about other people knowing just yet. Alastair clearly wanted to keep everything a secret and Thomas knew he had good reasons. Men like them were not accepted in society. He’d heard over and over from Matthew about Oscar Wilde’s trial and the gross indecency charges that led him to a workhouse and an early, lonely death. He’d never heard of a Shadowhunter facing such charges, even though it was understood that such behavior was not to be tolerated, but perhaps it was something that was kept quiet by the Clave. 

On the other hand, a great deal of his family seemed to be perfectly accepting. No one so much as batted an eye at the antics of his cousin Anna and Matthew’s dalliances with both men and women were legendary. Alastair had told him that Charles was absolutely against anyone knowing about his preferences, afraid it would hurt his career. He was not necessarily wrong. Still, Thomas wasn’t sure how his own family would take it and he wasn’t in a hurry to find out. And he certainly didn’t want to force Alastair into the open before he was ready. He was content to wait for now until they had more time to figure things out between one another. There was no law that said they had to share their relationship with others right away. Though he did like how relieved he had felt when Jem guessed his secret and assured him that he was still loved. Thomas was resolved to give it time. He also wanted to speak to Alastair and try to gauge his feelings on the subject. Anything, as long as it meant spending more time with him.


	6. Outings (Alastair)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! It's a holiday (at least in the US) so you get another chapter! I've been working from home a lot so it's been hard to write because after I'm done working I don't want to see a computer again for at least 8-12 hours. But, things are heating up in this story, so I got another chapter completed. I hope you enjoy. Please forgive any historical inaccuracies. I did as much archival research as I could to make the V&A authentic for 1903 (I've only been there once around 2008 so it's been a while) but I'm sure I've missed things.
> 
> As always, thank you for the kind comments and please send suggestions if you have any!

Chapter 6: Outing (Alastair)

Saturday morning, Alastair again found himself on Thomas Lightwood’s doorstep. His heart was beating swiftly in his chest and he wished it would stop so he could bloody think without the constant thumping. His emotions were overwrought, as they had been on the cab ride over. The prospect of seeing Thomas again and spending the day with him had Alastair feeling both elated and apprehensive. He also dreaded seeing either of Thomas’s parents. Gideon Lightwood had been surprisingly cordial to him, which Alastair assumed as only for his son’s benefit. He was honestly more afraid of Mrs. Lightwood. It was she whom he had hurt the most with the rumors he had spread and he regretted it so bitterly now it made his lungs seize up just thinking about Thomas’s mother crying over her young son and her disgraced family.

Alastair was so consumed by his dark thoughts that he jumped when the door abruptly opened in front of him. He had a spear in his hand and extended before he even registered that Thomas was standing before him. The gleaming tip of the spear just grazed Thomas’s throat and the boy paused, hands up, as the door shut behind him.

“It’s going to be terribly awkward if you kill me on my own front doorstep,” he commented. Though the spear was at a killing range, Alastair could see Thomas’s muscles bunched beneath his clothes, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. He’d seen Thomas fight and the larger boy was incredibly fast for someone his size. If they had remained enemies, Alastair wondered which of them would have won in a fight. Instead of trying to find out, he drew the tip of the spear carefully away from his love’s neck and flicked it back down to the size of a short candlestick.

“Sorry,” he offered, replacing the spear in his jacket. It was difficult to concentrate on a proper apology when he was busy taking in the sight of the other boy. Today Thomas was wearing a cobalt blue waistcoat, picked out with silver accents and buttons, under a jacket of a slightly lighter hue. His trousers were dark grey and fit him exceptionally well. He wasn’t wearing a hat and his sandy brown hair gleamed in the early sunshine. He looked like an oversized angel.

Thomas shrugged and adjusted his tie. “I know we’re all still on edge after the demons and everything. I didn’t mean to startle you, but I didn’t think you would want to come in.”

“You were correct in that assumption.” Alastair informed him. “So, where are you taking me, today? What are your favorite places in London?”

Thomas turned a bright smile on Alastair. “It was difficult to choose—there are so many! I thought we might first go to the Victoria and Albert. It’s in South Kensington.

It’s got a bit of everything—overflow from the National Gallery, an exquisite India collection I think you might like, a whole gallery about modern science and manufacturing… And we could have tea at the restaurant.” 

The boy’s enthusiasm was so endearing that Alastair couldn’t hold back a rare smile. “Lead the way, then. Show me London.”

The boys made their way to Kensington by way of a hansom cab, as the Lightwood carriage was in use. Alastair would have thought Thomas would prefer to ride in something more elegant, but the other boy seemed perfectly content to sit beside him in the small space, pointing out landmarks as they rode through the streets. Alastair did appreciate the introduction to the city he had seen very little of since arriving, but even more he found himself appreciating watching Thomas out of the corner of his eye. It was a bit disconcerting being alone with him. Around other people, even his group of ruffian friends, Thomas always seemed shy and reserved. With Alastair, he was alight with interest and good cheer. It was intoxicating.

“Alastair?”

The boy started at the sound of his name and realized he had become lost in thought.

Thomas canted his head at him curiously. “You looked preoccupied. What were you thinking about?”

He couldn’t very well admit he was pondering his companion’s fine hazel eyes. Instead, he said the most shocking thing he could think of. “I was thinking about how we are alone in this cab and how easy it would be to take advantage of you.”

To his surprise, Thomas laughed, though his cheeks reddened delightfully. “You’re handy with the spear, but by my size alone I rather think I’m the one who is most at advantage between us, especially in the back of a cab where your spear would be too long to do any damage.”

Well, Alastair simply couldn’t let a good-natured jest go without returning fire. His cheeks flushed at Thomas’s talk of spears and their length, and he was glad for his dark skin and the shadow of the cab that hid it. “Oh?” he asked archly. He turned so his body faced Thomas, letting their knees slide along one another’s slowly, drawing out the feeling. He propped his gloved hand up on the back of the seat behind Thomas’s head and let the other one rest lightly on the boy’s hard thigh. “Is that so, Lightwood? Of the two of us, I daresay while you have the most brawn, I have the most…experience.” He let the word linger on his lips, tilting his head just so to look up at Thomas seductively through the fringe of his black hair.

Thomas’s throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. His body had tensed, muscles taught as a bowstring, breath held as he stared straight into Alastair’s dark hooded eyes. It wasn’t easy to flirt or make advances in a bouncing hansom cab, but Alastair was determined to win their little game. He moved his hand on Thomas just slightly higher and Thomas sucked in a steadying breath. The taller boy leaned in, licking his lips. Alastair parted his and strained up a little…

The cab jerked to a stop, sending Alastair, who was already off balance, sprawling over Thomas’s lap in a disgruntled heap. He felt the other boy’s laugh lumber up from his chest before he heard it break into the sudden silence in the cab. Strong hands gently pushed his shoulders back, righting him on the seat. When he looked up, slightly embarrassed, it was into Thomas’s brilliant smile. Thomas hesitated a moment, then reached up to carefully tuck a lock of Alastair’s hair back into place.

“If that’s you taking advantage, I don’t think I want to fight it,” he confessed softly.

Alastair nearly choked. How on Earth did Thomas manage to be so sweet all the time? It was unfair and disarming and he secretly loved it. “Good,” he said briskly, tugging his waistcoat back into a semblance of order. “That will go better for both of us.” He let himself out of the cab and went to pay the driver before Thomas could offer. Once they were both situated, and the cab had driven off, Alastair turned to see the Victoria & Albert Museum directly in front of them. He walked on ahead, eager to explore. As he passed Thomas, he let his hand graze the other boy’s elbow and was rewarded with a little shiver.

The museum was just as wonderful as Thomas had described it. Alastair had always cultivated his appreciation for art and innovation and the Victoria and Albert had everything to offer. The boys wandered the galleries together, softly exchanging commentary on what they saw. Alastair had noted in Paris when he and Thomas visited the Louvre together, that his companion was quite knowledgeable about art as well and offered insightful observations that showed his good taste matched Alastair’s own. He imagined them continuing on together like this into the future, visiting places of art and knowledge, sharing their experiences, coming home together…   
He knew it was a foolish wish, especially after that had happened with Charles, and that Thomas would choose his family over Alastair if they moved towards making their relationship public. Alastair did not fancy getting his heart broken a second time. No, it was better to simply enjoy the moment, each moment, whatever time he had with Thomas before the other boy realized he could do so much better.

After exploring the galleries, the boys took a walk outdoors around the grounds of the museum complex before returning inside to sample the restaurant. Thomas had declared it to be the first museum in the world to offer a public restaurant inside and he was eager to try it. “I did a little research,” Thomas was saying as they walked towards where the three lavishly decorated refreshment rooms were. “And by that I mean I asked Matthew since he’s actually dined here. From his description, I recommend we try the Gamble Room.” Alastair agreed readily enough—he was beginning to think at this point he would agree to anything to make Thomas happy, which he recognized as a dangerous thought. 

He knew why Thomas had picked the Gamble Room the moment they walked inside. It reminded him immediately of the more rich, lush cafes dotted throughout the city of Paris. Four tall columns, covered in colorful mosaics, held up a trio of arches that graced the ceiling of the far side of the room. Brilliant stained-glass windows shone beyond that (Alastair suspected they had been constructed to hide the kitchens). He caught their reflection in one of the many gilt mirrors along the walls and seeing the two of them standing together in the golden frame made his heart tighten with emotion. Angel, if only they could step out together like this all the time. Seeing Thomas amid such exotic beauty in the room was breathtaking. 

A server came to greet them with a bow and showed them to a table near the front corner of the room with an excellent view of the ceramic tiles that decorated the walls. 

“This is so extravagant!” Thomas said excitedly. He was craning his head to take in all the scenery around him and normally Alastair might have been embarrassed, but he simply watched Thomas delight in the room and exclaim about all the features.

“Does it remind you of Paris?” Alastair asked. 

Thomas turned to him with a sheepish look. “That’s why I thought you might like it,” he admitted. 

The server returned with tea and coffee and menus for them to peruse. As Thomas had also learned, the restaurant served from three different menus: first-class, second-class, and third-class (mainly for the working-class people who staffed and visited the museum). Alastair didn’t even bother with the last two, setting them at the end of the table and opening the first-class for himself and Thomas. After some debate, Thomas ordered the jugged hare, Alastair the steak pudding, and an assortment of seasonal tarts to share. Alastair insisted on treating Thomas and paying for it all. He wasn’t sure what pocket money Thomas might have and, in a sense, paying made him feel like it was in some small way making up for the inadequacy of his company.

As they waited for their meal, Thomas cleared his throat and mentioned that he had had a visit from Jem yesterday.

“Did he have any insight on the Marks?” Alastair asked lightly. He was, of course, extremely eager to know what might have caused the phenomenon, but he was hesitant on the subject of his cousin, whom he had treated so cruelly in the past. It was one of his many great regrets.

“Not much at the moment, but he promised to do some research on it. He also promised to keep the situation from the rest of the Silent Brothers.”

“Is that possible?” Alastair poured himself a cup of coffee and sipped it to have something to do with his hands. The way he had understood it, the Silent Brothers shared all their secrets with the whole Brotherhood. It was one of the reasons he had distanced himself from Jem, in case his cousin learned the truth about him. He couldn’t risk word reaching the Clave or the rest of his family.

Thomas shrugged. “Uncle Jem said it was, and I believe him.” He fidgeted a little in his seat. “I, er, told him about my rune. He looked more amused than anything and said he would be discreet. I’d die if my parents saw it, that’s for certain. He has more questions, though.”

“Such as?”

“Well, he wanted to know how it happened, of course. The, er, circumstances. So I told him I was—” he lowered his voice a little, though they were far away from any of the other early diners in the room—“kissing someone for the first time.”

Alastair noticed Thomas had begun rubbing at his arm, right where his tattoo was. He was also biting his lip. There was some information he was leaving out of his interview with Jem.

“And?” Alastair asked delicately. 

Thomas sighed and picked up a teacup. “I guess I wasn’t as subtle as I thought I was, because he eventually guessed I had been kissing a boy.”

Alastair’s hand holding his coffee cup jerked and a little of the hot coffee spilled over the rim and into the saucer beneath it. His chest tightened, an immediate fight or flight response from years of hiding what he was. He opened his mouth to inquire for more details, but at that moment their server arrived with their meal. They boys stayed silent as the man arranged their food for them then left them to eat. Alastair yanked his fork out of his rolled linen napkin with more force than necessary. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me this earlier? What if Jem shares that information with his Brothers—or the Clave? Or your parents?”

Thomas stirred his hare stew. “I didn’t want to upset you. I trust Jem with my life—and yours, if it comes to that. He knows what it means to keep secrets. Though he said…” Thomas trailed off, thinking back to his conversation with the Silent Brother. “He said that he still cared for me and that he was proud of me for telling him. He was really understanding about it. I think…I think my family would be too, if I told them.”

Alastair felt a pang of jealousy towards the other boy and he tried to hide it by taking a bite of pudding. He suspected that Thomas was right—if the way his family and friends accepted Anna and Matthew was anything to go by. It was also impossible not to like Thomas. Alastair doubted that he would be as lucky. Except for Cordelia. He knew his sister saw him no differently after she found out about his preference for men. But his strictly traditional mother? His overbearing and now absent father? He shuddered at the thought. Then he noticed Thomas’s extended silence and his stomach twisted into an even tighter knot.

“Thomas, is there something else?”

The other boy nodded in resignation and set down his spoon, abandoning his meal for the moment. He cleared his throat and reached up to loosen his tie a little. When he spoke, it came out in a quiet rush. “It’s just that…Jem guessed that I was with a boy when the rune appeared. When he asked if he could talk to the other boy, I momentarily forgot that he hadn’t guessed which boy I was with and I mentioned something about the boy thinking Jem hated him because he was cruel him in the past and he guessed—”

“He knows about me?!” Alastair practically yelled. He was half out of his chair before he realized causing a scene would just make matters worse. He very nearly stalked out of the room anyways. If he left now, perhaps he could still leave town before the Clave got word about him. He could stop by his house in Kensington—it wasn’t far—and gather his things. He could be on a train to Paris or Madrid within the hour…

But a glance down at his companion showed Thomas looking scared and vulnerable, hazel eyes wide, face pale, afraid Alastair might leave him. Alastair swore that the moment they locked eyes the Agape rune burned white hot on his arm. It jolted him out of his panic long enough to think clearly. Thomas hadn’t meant to share his secret—it sounded like Jem had been more astute than either of them gave him credit for. And, Jem was his cousin. They were bound to each other out of blood if nothing else. And Thomas trusted him. Alastair thought of all the horrible things he had put the other boy through. In a way, he deserved this. That didn’t mean he had to like it.  
He sat back down carefully and replaced his napkin in his lap. After a moment of silence, he stabbed at his pudding with his fork and gave Thomas a murderous look. The other boy seemed briefly relieved, then went back to looking miserable. 

“Alastair, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I know you probably despise me. I—I would deserve it if you did leave me. Or—threw me in the Thames.”

Alastair surprised them both by snorting a very undignified laugh. “Is that why you waited to tell me here, hoping I wouldn’t kill you immediately if we were in public?”

Thomas stirred his stew listlessly. “Something like that. I couldn’t bear the thought of you being angry with me, but I thought if you did leave we could at least have had one perfect day together. It was foolish of me.”

Alastair had been right—it was impossible to hate Thomas. He was still furious and (he admitted only to himself) afraid that his secret had been shared without his content (twice if he counted Cordelia). But he recognized that it wasn’t really Thomas’s fault. He had wanted answers and should have known going into it that there was the possibility of his preference being revealed. And if he abandoned Thomas, he would have no one left who loved him.

“Delbar-am,” he sighed, mostly to himself. 

Thomas looked at him curiously, honestly shocked that he hadn’t been run through with a spear yet. “I don’t know that one. My-something?”

Alastair went back to cutting his cooling pudding, more delicately than before. “Literally translated, thief of my heart. It’s what I’ve been calling you in my head, and it’s true. You had stolen my heart before I ever even realized I liked you.” He took a bite of the steak. It was definitely worthy of the first-class menu. “What did Jem say about me?”

The other boy perked up hopefully. “He loves you, Alastair! He’s been wanting to get to know you for ages. He was more surprised to hear that you thought he disliked you, than about your preference for men. He didn’t really comment on that at all, except to promise he would keep our secrets. He just said…” Thomas paused, heat coming to his cheeks again.

“Yes?” Alastair prompted.

“He thanked me for caring for you and he could see why you got the Agape Mark from me.” Unconsciously, Alastair pressed a hand to the place on his arm. Thomas went on. “He really wants to see you. Well, and me, to talk about the runes, but I think he just wants to get to know you. You know you’re the only family he has. Maybe he’s been just as lonely as you.”

It hadn’t occurred to Alastair that a Silent Brother would need his family. Weren’t they forbidden from having ties to the world outside the Brotherhood? But as soon as he thought it, Alastair realized how selfish that way of thinking was. He had already tried making amends among his peers for his behavior when he was younger. Perhaps it was time to set things right with his cousin as well.

“Do you know how frustrating it is when you make me want to be a better person?” he said.

Thomas flashed him a tentative smile. “Does that mean you don’t hate me?”

Alastair just barely refrained from rolling his eyes. He had to at least maintain a modicum of decorum for the both of them. Instead, he shoved a plate in the other boy’s direction. “Eat your tarts, Thomas. I still reserve my right to throw you in the Thames if this interview with Jem doesn’t go well, but if he wants to talk I suppose we should arrange a meeting.”


	7. Congress (Thomas)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and sorry for the long wait between chapters. I keep forgetting to post, plus I have some exciting news! I'm publishing a book soon! It's an eBook, due out in November. It's a steamy werewolf romance :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter--at this point the mature rating is going to kick in! You know those bedrooms the Merry Thieves rented at the Devil Tavern? One's about to get some use...

Chapter 7: Congress (Thomas)

Thomas was nearly vibrating with anticipation when he arrived at the Devil Tavern two days after his outing with Alastair. He had dutifully sent word to his Uncle Jem that he and Alastair would like to meet with him, and suggested the Devil as a neutral place where they may speak in private, using the Merry Thieves’ rooms above the bar. Jem had replied in the affirmative so Thomas wrote to Alastair to meet them at the tavern the following afternoon.

He hadn’t seen Alastair since they parted after their day at the museum. Alastair had walked Thomas to his front door and the two of them lingered there a moment. Thomas had been afraid that Alastair was still furious with him about accidentally revealing his preferences to Jem. Alastair cordially bid him good-bye and Thomas turned sadly towards his door when he felt Alastair close at his back. He spun to find the other boy only inches away. Alastair leaned in and spoke softly against his ear. “ _Shab bekheir va khabhaye shirin, delbar-am_.” Good night and sweet dreams thief of my heart. Thomas had opened his mouth to return the farewell but Alastair swooped in and kissed his neck just above his collar then pulled away and hurried down the steps. Thomas stood another moment watching him go before retreating into his house, his fingers pressed against the spot where Alastair’s lips had touched his skin.

He hoped that they could be alone together again soon. Every time he saw the other boy it was as if he was drawn to him like a freezing man seeking a hearth. He knew it wasn’t just the influence of his new rune—he had been enamored of Alastair long before that. But now that he knew what it felt like to touch him, to kiss him, to hear his voice go deep when he spoke to him…it was torment to keep away. Thomas wondered if this was how all young people felt when parted from their first love. He wondered if this was how James felt when he was parted from Grace or how his parents felt when they were not together. It was as though a part of himself he’d given away years ago suddenly realized it was missing and only being close to Alastair made the longing cease. 

When he entered the Devil Tavern, Thomas looked around the place to see if either of his companions had arrived before him. Seeing no one he recognized in the common room (it was the middle of the afternoon so there were very few patrons) he walked over to the bar. Ernie, the werewolf proprietor, was busy replacing the tap in a cask of ale, readying for the evening dinner crowd. He gave Thomas a quick nod of welcome and went back to his task. Polly, the barmaid, walked by and gave Thomas a friendly smile. “I sent a friend of yours up to your rooms,” she said. “Black hair, black eyes, so exotic-looking!” 

Thomas felt a pang in his chest at hearing Polly’s enthusiastic description of Alastair and it took him a moment place the feeling as jealousy. Which was ridiculous, because he knew Alastair had eyes only for men, and Thomas in particular. At least, he assumed as much. It wasn’t as if they had talked about being with one another exclusively and no understandings had been set between them…Perhaps this was something he needed to discuss with Alastair before things went too much father between them. The prospect of talking about their future filled his stomach with butterflies.

“Uh, thank you, Polly,” Thomas said hastily. “And I’m expecting one more. My uncle, a Silent Brother.”

Polly looked astonished but recovered quickly. “Any friends of my Merry Thieves are friends of mine. Shall I bring up some drinks?”

“Coffee, please,” Thomas said, remembering Alastair’s preference for the drink over tea. 

After he earned her nod of confirmation, he made his way upstairs to the large parlor room James had rented for their group. Entering the room always put a smile on his face and eased some of the tension inside of him. The hideaway that James had created for their friends had become a home away from home, especially for those of them who had been new to London after moving with their parents. It was a place they could escape the chaos of their families and just be themselves. Thomas wondered if it might not be a bad place for he and Alastair to continue meeting, after he talked with the other boy about their future expectations. And there were several smaller bedrooms they might be able to make use of—Thomas quickly cut off that line of thought and was blushing by the time he reached the parlor.

Which was unfortunate because Alastair was looking at him from the plush armchair in the corner. He gave Thomas a sly grin when he saw the nervous state Thomas was in. 

“I daresay, Lightwood, that you have brought me up here for some nefarious purpose,” he mused. Thomas thought he looked good sitting there in his space. The tall, narrow windows let sunlight stream in and across the other boy’s profile, making his skin even more golden. There was a closed book on his lap and the gilt cover shone brightly, casting his face in even more light. He looked ethereal, like a devilish angel waiting for Thomas to move closer so he could strike.

“It, uh, this is where my group meets away from home.” Thomas crossed the room to take his usual chair by the tiled fireplace. He thought sitting any closer to Alastair at the moment might invite some misdeeds that his uncle may not wish to witness when he arrived. Alastair’s raised eyebrow at his distance indicated that he knew exactly what Thomas was thinking.

“Your group? I saw the chemistry set. I’m surprised the tavern is still standing.”

Thomas stifled a laugh. “I will admit there have been a few close calls. We keep a basin of water and one of sand nearby, just in case.”

Alastair nodded. “I perused your bookshelf. There are quite a few in Persian.”

Thomas’s blush returned. “Lucie has been studying the language in preparation for being parabatai with Cordelia. I like languages, so I joined her.”

“I see. No ulterior motives, then.”

“None whatsoever,” Thomas informed him, but they both knew it was a falsehood. He had wanted to learn Persian because it brought him one step closer to understanding Alastair.

Their gentle banter was interrupted by a knock at the open parlor door. They both looked up to see Jem standing there. He was dressed in the usual parchment robes of the Silent Brotherhood and carried his rune-carved staff. His hood was pushed back so they could see his face—his closed eyes and mouth, the prominent scars of runes on his cheeks. Some people tended to be afraid of or even disgusted by the countenance of a Silent Brother, and, granted, Jem’s transformation was less severe than others who had taken oaths, but to Thomas it would always be the dear face of his uncle, a beloved member of his extended family. He hoped Alastair came to see him the same way. As much as he wanted to learn more about their mysterious runes, he also relished the chance to reunite the estranged cousins.

“Thank you for coming, Uncle Jem. Welcome to the room of the Merry Thieves.”

Jem entered and set his staff against the round wood table in the center of the room. _Thank you for your invitation. I’m honored to be here. James has often told me of his secret hideaway. Boys need a space of their own. For Will and I, it was the attic of the Institute._

Thomas grinned at him, pleased the that older man understood he and his friends’ need for solitude. “Not that you need an introduction, but this is Alastair,” he said, waving towards the boy who still sat in the corner. Alastair’s posture had stiffened, his chin tilted in that haughty way he affected when he had his walls up. Thomas supposed it was natural that he be wary at first, given all that Jem knew about him now and their strained relationship in the past, and Thomas vowed that he would make every effort to get the two more comfortable around each other. If anything, he was certain that it was not humanly possible to dislike Jem once one got to know him, so he hoped Alastair would give himself the chance to do so.

Jem stepped closer to Alastair and held out a hand to him. _Cousin, it is very good to see you._

Alastair stood and took Jem’s hand with a brief, almost nervous glance at Thomas. “So to speak,” said Alastair, referring to the man’s permanently closed eyes. Throwing barbs was his only way of protecting himself.

Thomas tensed at the insult, mortified, but Jem’s amused voice echoed in their minds. _You remind me of my Parabatai. He has a wicked sense of humor as well. It is good you found Thomas—you two shall balance each other out._

Thomas relaxed, and noticed that Alastair did as well. He brought up a chair for his uncle and scooted his own closer to the others. “See, Alastair, Jem thinks I’ll be a good influence on you.”

“More like you won’t put up with my superior personality,” Alastair noted. “It’s difficult to talk down to someone who is half-giant.” 

Thomas chuckled. If Alastair chose to calm his nerves by sharpening his tongue on him, so be it. He could handle the other boy’s biting wit. “At least I’m not part harpy.”  
Alastair snorted that same surprised, genuine laugh of this that Thomas had begun to find quite endearing. 

Jem simply watched the two of them talk, gazing at the boys serenely. When Thomas noticed, he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Anyways, we’re glad you’re here, Uncle Jem. Have you been able to find anything else about our runes?”

_I have not had very much success in locating any evidence that something like this has occurred before. At least not in the records of the Silent City._

Alastair spoke up, leaning forward a bit with interest. “I looked in all the Persian books I have at home with no luck, but I could take a look through the library at Cirenworth next time we are in residence. We have books there that the London Shadowhunters may not.”

Jem nodded. _The next step would be to broaden our search. But perhaps we should start from the beginning. Let’s have a look at your arms. Thomas has told me his account of things. Alastair, I’d like to hear yours._

Thomas reached to undo the button on the cuff of his left shirtsleeve. After fumbling with it for a minute with no success, Thomas saw a pair of brown hands with long, graceful fingers come into view. Alastair deftly slid the button through the hole and very gently rolled the starched white sleeve up Thomas’s forearm to reveal first his tattoo then the Mark above it. Thomas held his breath, very aware of the feeling of Alastair’s warm fingers touching him. Emboldened by Alastair’s action, Thomas took the other boy’s right arm and returned the favor. The corded muscles under his warm brown skin, overlapped with old and new Marks, made Thomas bite his lip.

The two of them turned to Jem to show him their arms side by side so he could inspect the runes. Thomas’s arm brushed against Alastair’s and a little shiver passed over him. This was getting far too intimate. 

Jem ran his pale fingers over their forearms, examining the Marks from several angles. As he studied, Alastair told Jem briefly his account of what had happened between then, leaving out any details about the circumstances leading up to or after the kiss. Jem did not seem at all bothered to hear about what the two of them had been doing together and Thomas noticed the relief in Alastair’s dark eyes the longer he talked and Jem simply listened without judgment.

_The runes themselves look normal, Jem eventually announced, as though they had been drawn by steles. And the upside-down position does seem to indicate they were drawn by a second person rather than yourself. As for why those particular runes appeared, there is no clear answer yet._

Alastair pulled his arm back and replaced his sleeve and cuff. “Thomas said you might have some theories.”

 _I do, but more research is needed._

“I can keep searching at the Institute,” Thomas offered, “and perhaps there is still something left to be uncovered in the Silent City.” 

_Indeed_ , Jem agreed. _But perhaps it is time we broaden our search. If you are willing, I’d like to consult a warlock I know. Ragnor Fell. He’s made an extensive research on Angelic runes and he might have some insight._

Thomas snorted. “Oh terrific. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear from us again.” At his companions’ confused expressions, Thomas briefly explained the warlock’s part in helping his friends find Emmanual Gast, the man who had summoned the Mandikhor demon for Belial. Fell had not been happy to hear from them, after the trauma he endured when Christopher had blown up a wing of the Academy where the warlock formerly taught.

 _Perhaps I should be the one to ask for his assistance,_ then, Jem said wisely. _I will send him a letter and let you both know when I receive a reply. In the meantime, we can all continue to research. And, he added with a nod to Alastair, We will continue to conceal any details about this phenomenon until we know more._ He stood, indicating he needed to be on his way. 

Thomas rose from his seat as well, ready to show the Silent Brother out. “Thank you so much, Uncle Jem. We really appreciate your help. It’s all so strange; I’m glad you’re here.”

 _Anything for my best nephew,_ Jem said with the hint of a teasing tone. _Though I am glad to have a chance to speak to Alastair as well. I hope we can meet again._

“Thank you, Cousin.” Thomas turned and was surprised to see Alastair standing and holding out his hand to Jem. “I would like to meet again as well. Although, not that I’m not appreciative, but aren’t Silent Brothers forbidden from socializing?”

Jem inclined his head to the boy.

_As it turns out, Carstairs are rebels. I do try to abide by the rules of my Order, but I sometimes wonder why they were put in place. I understand minimizing distractions, but I also think that in order to heal and understand, the Brothers need to be closer to humanity, not farther from it. It is the same with relations between the Nephilim and the Downworld. The farther we keep from each other, the less we understand and have empathy for one another._

He came forward to shake Alastair’s hand, but at the last moment Alastair held up both arms stiffly in the offer of a hug. Jem accepted it readily and the two cousins stood holding each other, Jem cupping the back of the boy’s head with one hand, his other arm firmly about his shoulders. Thomas watched with fascination. He’d never seen Alastair willingly touch anyone other than himself and he knew what a great deal of trust he was placing in Jem. But, as he had known, Jem was impossible not to like.  
After several moments, the two cousins parted and Jem left Thomas and Alastair alone in the parlor. 

“Well,” Alastair said expectantly into the silence. His black eyes were slitted as he gazed over at Thomas from across the room.

Thomas looked at him, suddenly feeling like a fish in a barrel. “What were you reading?” he asked, to have something to say. If it was a book he had read—and chances were it was if it had come from his bookshelf in the corner of the room—perhaps he and Alastair could discuss it together. 

“Is that really what you wish to talk about?” the other boy said languidly. The way he was staring at him made Thomas feel…not uncomfortable, precisely. More…warm, and itchy, like his clothes were suddenly to close to his body. He faltered, not sure how to respond. Alastair, seeing him panic, slunk forward, putting a little sway into his hips and a suggestive grin on his lips. “Or would you rather continue our discussion from the cab ride to the museum?”

Thomas remembered that cab ride well and immediately knew to which discussion Alastair was referring. The one in which Alastair had been flirting with him and they had very nearly kissed.

“You, ah, were talking about how you thought you had the advantage of me.” He tensed as Alastair stopped just in front of him, the top of his head just coming up to his chin.

“Yes. Would you care to discuss that further? Make some counterpoints on your behalf?” Thomas was decidedly hot now, soaking in the warmth radiating from Alastair’s body. His throat was dry and he felt things lower in his body start to take an interest in this discussion as well.

“Th-there’s a bedroom,” he gasped, gesturing vaguely behind him. The parlor his friends rented was connected to several tiny bedrooms down the dusty hallway. One they had cleaned out to use for napping or exchanging demon-torn clothing. Alastair grabbed the hand he pointed with and moved past him, tugging Thomas out of the parlor and next door. 

Once in, Alastair pushed him towards the bed and Thomas sat down hard on the corner of it. Alastair was in his lap a moment later, fingers in his short, sandy hair, lips against his like he was dying for it. Thomas, fueled by Alastair’s passion, kissed him back, albeit inexpertly, and slid his hands up and down the other boy’s back encouragingly. Alastair’s jacket hit the scrubbed wood floor a beat later and the heat beneath Thomas’s fingers was incredible. He suddenly wanted to feel skin against his. He reached up and, still kissing the other boy, began to fumble with the ivory buttons on his waistcoat. They were delicate and highly polished and it was difficult for his large fingers to manage, but he kept at it until he was able to push it back over Alastair’s shoulders and onto the floor to join his jacket.

 _“Noore cheshmam,”_ Alastair murmured against his lips, rubbing against Thomas’s front like a tomcat marking what was his. _Light of my eyes._ It was true—Thomas had eyes only for him, always had. Their hips bumped together and Thomas tried to contain a moan at the sensation.

“I need to feel you,” he breathed against Alastair’s neck. He was driven by instinct only, not having much knowledge about how people in love expressed it physically. The other boy nodded desperately and Thomas scooped him up by the backs of his thighs and swung Alastair around to toss him back on the mattress. Thomas followed him down, covering Alastair’s slighter body with his own. In the back of his mind, Thomas knew things between them were progressing quickly and that he would never have taken such liberties with a lady, but this with Alastair felt right and he didn’t want to stop.

Alastair reached up for him instantly and Thomas liked the way he looked beneath him—hair hopelessly mussed, eyes glassy and wide, lips wet, chest heaving as he panted for air. This wasn’t the haughty, impeccably put-together Alastair who wore his clothes like armor. This was an Alastair only Thomas got to see and he felt both honored and aroused.

“Is this ok?” he asked, starting on the buttons of the other boy’s crisp white shirt. Alastair shivered beneath him.

“Ruin me, Thomas,” he whispered. _“Kharâbetam.” I’m ruined for you,_ the words he had spoken to Thomas the first time he admitted he had romantic feelings for him. The double meaning was clear. Boys couldn’t technically be compromised or ruined the way women could, but the act of doing the ruining was just as pleasurable: ravishing Alastair until he could only breathe Thomas’s name. This wild desire was new to him and it consumed him, the flame fanned by Alastair’s fervent encouragement. 

Thomas wasn’t about to slow down. He bent to unbutton Alastair’s shirt while the other boy loosened then tossed aside his tie. Underneath Alastair’s shirt his almost-sheer union suit was visible and Thomas made quick work of those buttons as well. Thomas watched with rapt attention as more and more of Alastair’s warm brown skin was revealed until he got to the end and yanked the shirt tails out of Alastair’s trousers, leaving the rest of his under garment to disappear beneath the waistband. 

Suddenly more skin was on display than Thomas had ever seen. It glistened with a light sheen of sweat and was sparsely peppered with dark hair. Thomas, bottom lip caught in his teeth, ran a shaky hand down from Alastair’s chest over his muscled stomach, delighting in the feeling. Alastair arched up, following his touch like he couldn’t get enough. Thomas, still in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, leaned in to kiss him and slowly lowered his body down to lie atop him. Alastair’s bare, runed arms snaked up around him and Thomas could feel the lower halves of their bodies meeting. He gasped into Alastair’s open mouth. His hips thrust down without his permission and they both groaned at the sensation. Thomas bit at the other boy’s lips, touching his exposed skin wherever he could.

One of Alastair’s hands crept between them and Thomas jerked in surprise when he felt it come to rest between his legs. Alastair’s nimble fingers squeezed him, wringing a moan from his lips. Even over the layers of clothing Thomas still wore, the other boy’s fingers were so hot against him. Alastair settled for rubbing him back and forth, languid but with purpose. There was not much more Thomas could do but kiss him between panting breaths.

Finally, after what seemed to Thomas was hours of bliss, it was Alastair who stilled their movements. “Thomas, _delbar-am_.”  
When Thomas pulled back enough to look at him, Alastair gave him a honey smile, warm and sweet and completely unguarded. It was almost better than the kisses. “We should stop unless you want things to go any further.” He sounded firm, but reluctant. The tone brought Thomas back to his senses and he sighed, sitting up so Alastair could wriggle out from beneath him. His trousers were uncomfortably tight.

“You’re probably right. I want…everything with you, but I’m not sure I’m ready to go any further right now.” Thomas was a little disappointed, and his body certainly protested the sudden lack of contact between then, but he knew it was for the best. He flopped down beside Alastair on the bed. “Can we just lie like this for a little while?”

Alastair settled down next to him, sharing the only pillow on the bed. There was companionable quiet between them for several minutes while they caught their breath and cooled off from their heated activities. Then Thomas gathered up the courage to ask something he had been wondering.

“When you said you had experience back in the cab…was Charles your first kiss?” Alastair had been his and while it had produced very unexpected consequences, he couldn’t say he regretted it.

Alastair sighed and shook his head. “No, my first kiss was with Augustus Pounceby.”

Thomas choked. He remembered James telling his friends that Pounceby had made rude comments about his mother. So, James had done the only natural thing and thrown him in the Thames. 

Alastair continued, sounding a bit rueful as he stared up at the cracked ceiling. “It was three years ago. I spent a summer with him—it was the same summer James was at Cirenworth and came down with the scalding fever. Augustus and I both figured out we were ‘of that sort,’ so we experimented with one another. It was just for the summer and just as friends—we didn’t care for each other romantically but at the time we were afraid it was all either of us would ever have, given what we are.”

Thomas suddenly remembered something he’d noticed the day of the fateful picnic in Regent’s Park. “You two were down by the water, skipping stones together.” At the time, he had been chiefly occupied in drinking Cordelia’s ginger beer and covertly watching Alastair from a distance.

Alastair shrugged. “We’ve kept in touch.”

“Did you and Augustus…?” Thomas trailed off, not sure how to ask what he suddenly wanted very desperately to know.

Alastair rolled toward him and grinned like a stretching cat, slow and knowing. “Did we…fully engage ourselves in amorous activities? No. Charles had the pleasure of being my first for that.” Thomas wasn’t certain what exactly two men could do with one another that would count as being “fully engaged” but he wasn’t ready to ask that quite yet. There was something else that had been weighing on his mind, though, something he’d wondered about more and more as he got to know Alastair in a different light.

“I’ve also been wanting to ask about my rune…”

Thomas was struggled to think of a polite way to ask Alastair if he was some sort of sex fiend. Or if that was all he was interested in Thomas for. There were many different variations of the love rune, so why had this particular one represented Alastair?

The other boy reached out to draw his fingertips lightly down Thomas’s forearm, touching the new Mark. “First, to put your mind at ease, no, I am not simply interested in you physically. Though you know you are quite desirable. As I’m sure you noticed in Paris, I appreciate art and you are a work of art worthy of the Louvre. You may call me shallow, but physical attraction and compatibility is as important to me as other qualities.” 

Thomas could feel a blush creep up his neck and blossom out over his lightly tanned cheeks. He wasn’t used to being complemented. Alastair brushed his fingers over the warmed skin fondly.

“Further, as you might also have noticed, I’m not very adept at telling people how I feel about them. I prefer to show them. I—” he stumbled but forced himself to go on if only for Thomas’s sake. He seemed to make the decision to damn his own pride if it meant putting Thomas’s fears at ease. “It may not seem like it, but I like being touched. Especially by a lover. And I like touching them. It’s the only way I’m comfortable expressing how I feel about them. So…physical intimacy is important to me.”  
Then, he grinned wickedly at Thomas. “That, and I really do enjoy sex. I’ve been told I’m quite good at it.”

Thomas let out a scandalized gasp and punched Alastair soundly on the shoulder. Alastair just laughed and rolled over to hunt for his abandoned waistcoat.


	8. Visits (Alastair)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you as always for your support on this story. I hope you enjoy this new chapter as a Thanksgiving treat! It's a bit of filler before the second part of the story takes off, but there's some fluffy moments so don't worry!
> 
> I've ben pretty busy with work, so it's been difficult to find the energy to write, but I'd got this and another chapter coming so stay tuned.
> 
> I also published an eBook! My first one! It's a M/M werewolf romance. If you're interested in the title and there to buy it, you can message me. I would also be happy to send a free ARC in exchange for an honest review on the publisher's website :)

Chapter 8: Visits (Alastair) 

It was two days later that Alastair got a response from his cousin regarding his research about the love runes. To his surprise, Jem personally delivered his news to the Carstairs’s London house. Risa had let him in and Alastair, who had been holed up in his room (working on repairing the last of the damage he had wrought on it after Thomas’s rejection at the engagement party), heard such an excited fuss from Cordelia that he hurried downstairs to see who was calling. He didn’t think she would make much of a to-do if Thomas had stopped by to call on him (though his heart lurched hopefully at the thought). When his sister saw him emerge from his room at the top of the staircase, she waved up to him with bright eyes and a gleeful smile.

“Cousin Jem is here!” she announced. “He’s in the parlor and I’ve just sent Risa for some tea.”

It took Alastair a moment to comprehend her meaning. He certainly hadn’t expected Brother Zachariah of all people to come to the house. For a moment he was afraid his cousin had come to deliver bad news, but Cordelia seemed in good spirits so the fears that he conjured up in his mind were most likely unfounded.

“Well, let’s be good hosts and not keep him waiting. Is Mother in? I’m sure she would like to see him as well.” He descended the stairs in his usual insouciant manner and followed his sister towards the parlor. 

The girl shook her head. “No, she went out an hour ago to call on Mrs. Bridgestock. I think she was going to stay for tea. I’m so glad she’s been able to start making friends, as we have.”  
Alastair paused. “Speaking of tea, you might tell Risa to hold off. Silent Brothers don’t eat or drink, remember Layla?”

Cordelia looked aghast, her face flaming nearly as red as her hair. “Oh no, I had forgotten! I’ll go see Risa immediately. You go make sure Cousin Jem is comfortable.” With that she hurried off to let their lady’s maid know that afternoon refreshments would no longer be required. Alastair smiled after her. Cordelia was so kind and sympathetic to the feelings of others. A merciful hero, indeed. Of course, he was certain that Jem (who turned out to have much in common with his sister) would take no offense at being offered tea. Still, he was secretly glad that the interruption gave him at least a few minutes alone with Jem, long enough to receive any news the Silent Brother might have regarding his and Thomas’s runes.

Alastair made his way into the parlor and immediately spotted his cousin seated in the chair that Thomas had occupied the other day. There was a low fire crackling in the grate, leaving the room pleasantly warm against another rainy London day outdoors. Jem’s wooden staff was propped up against the wall and he sat still as a statue, only moving to turn his head at Alastair’s approach.  
“Welcome, Cousin,” the boy said, coming over to sit across from him on the small sofa.

Jem inclined his head to him. _Hello, Alastair. I’m glad to find you at home. And my other, delightful cousin Cordelia._

Alastair smiled. “Cordelia is over the moon to see you. She’s gone to stop Risa from making you tea.”

The Silent Brother slumped a little. _I don’t miss eating too often, but I do miss a nice up of tea. Sophie always had a way of making it so well._ His moment of reminiscence passed and he leaned forward a little, drawing Alastair’s attention. _While she is occupied, I can share some news._

“Did you hear back from Professor Fell?” Alastair asked, hoping his voice didn’t betray how apprehensive he was to hear of any progress. His feelings on the search to learn the secret of his newest rune were in conflict. On the one hand, he wanted to decipher the reason behind this strange phenomenon, both from a personal and a generally curious standpoint. On the other hand, he felt a prickle of fear that once the mystery was solved, he and Thomas would lose their reason for meeting one another so often. The runes drew them together, bound them through necessity of knowledge if nothing else. It was not that he held Thomas’s feelings for him to be so fickle. He simply knew that the other boy could do much better than him and would someday realize that. The thought rested in the back of Alastair’s mind like bitter tea leaves left too long in the pot.

Jem nodded. _I have. As I mentioned, Ragnor has made a study of angelic runes, among other pursuits. He believes that he may be able to provide you with answers if he is able to study the runes at length and perform some of his own magical tests._

“What does ‘at length’ mean?” Alastair wanted to know.

_Ah, that is the caveat. He says at least a week of study is needed for him to form a hypothesis. He also refuses to leave his current home in Idris after all the recent demonic business in London._

Alastair frowned. “So, he refuses to help us?” He supposed it might have had something to do with Thomas’s cousin Christopher blowing up that wing of Shadowhunter Academy. Which, Alastair noted with old annoyance, had somehow mysteriously held all his belongings as well. 

_I didn’t say that,_ Jem cautioned. _He is willing to help, but in order to get your answers, you must go to him._

“Go to Fell in Idris? For a week?” Alastair wasn’t sure he could get away from his family for that long, especially without a viable excuse. Perhaps he could say it was on secret Clave business?

 _You would be accompanied by Thomas, of course,_ Jem added wisely. 

Alastair drew in a sudden breath of dawning comprehension, sitting up straight on the sofa. He and Thomas together, away in the countryside for a week. No parents or siblings. No demons to fight. Days of time all to themselves…The things they could do together alone and uninterrupted… Alastair’s pants suddenly became uncomfortably tight. 

He cleared his throat and adjusted his seat a little on the sofa. “I think that could be managed. I’ll have to consult with Thomas, but I daresay he will not find travel too heavy a burden for the answers we seek.”

 _I thought not,_ Jem said sagely. Alastair suspected his cousin knew full well the salacious thoughts that had just run though his head at the prospect of having Thomas all to himself for a week. He fought a blush and tried to focus on the Silent Brother’s words. _I shall write to Ragnor and let him know when to expect you as soon as you are ready to leave. The most expedient way would be to use the Portal in the Institute._

Alastair nodded along, thinking quickly. Cordelia could be back at any moment so his time to converse candidly with the man was running out. “Thank you, Jem. Thomas and I both appreciate your help. I can send you word as soon as I can speak with Thomas—and conjure an excuse for us both to go traipsing off to Idris together.”

 _I may be able to help with that as well,_ Jem informed him. _You would be helping me in that regard. I have long been entertaining the idea of creating a training program of sorts for young Shadowhunters to form teams with Silent Brothers so that both can learn from one another. The London Shadowhunters in particular need field training, not just in the controlled environment of the Institute or Academy. This fallacy has proven fatal in the recent demon attacks. There is much Shadowhunters and Silent Brothers can teach each other—and not just battle techniques. My plan would be to take pairs of Shadowhunters on smaller missions so they can learn firsthand experience in the field._

Alastair remembered what Jem had said to him and Thomas in the Devil Tavern about Silent Brothers being too far removed from everyday life perform their role in the best interest of the Clave. “That’s not a bad idea,” he mused, thinking it over. “Much sorrow could have been avoided the day of the picnic had the new generation of Shadowhunters been more prepared. Belial’s plan worked just as he had hoped—weakening the Shadowhunters of London, luring them into complacency until combat was nearly forgotten. We cannot make that mistake again.” He heard Cordelia’s slippered footfalls approaching from outside the parlor door and hastened to continue their plans before she arrived. 

“So Thomas and I would be, what, your first experiment? How would you explain why you picked us specifically?” Alastair was apprehensive of the thought that any relationship perceived between him and Thomas would raise suspicion about them.

Jem answered readily, speaking quickly in Alastair’s mind. _My response would be genuine. I would wish to split apart friends and relatives—you must be able to trust any Shadowhunter you get paired with on a mission and learn to get along with them. It is part of the training. And, it just so happens that a Silent Brother is required in Idris to mediate a werewolf pack border dispute. You would accompany me to this, thus receiving valuable education and corroboration of your need to visit Idris as soon as possible._

Alastair whistled softly, impressed by his cousin’s machinations on his behalf. “Jem, you really are quite the mastermind.”

“Jem is the mastermind of what?” Cordelia let herself into the room and came to sit beside Alastair so they could both face Jem. “Pardon my little errand,” she added, smiling at the Silent Brother.  
“The mastermind of…playing the violin,” Alastair invented quickly. He had heard, from multiple sources, that his cousin’s skill with the instrument was legendary.

Cordelia seemed to accept his answer without question. “Do you still play, Jem? Perhaps Alastair might accompany you on the piano someday. We could have a family concert.”

Jem’s voice was softly amused in their minds. _I play very occasionally now, only when I am able to spare some time to visit the Institute. I would be honored to play alongside my cousin when the opportunity arises…_

The conversation continued with the light sharing of news. Jem seemed content to listen to Cordelia fill him in on the goings on concerning their mutual acquaintances and Alastair let her talk, his thoughts far away across London. When Jem excused himself a while later to return to the Silent City, Alastair stood as well, saying he had an errand to run. 

“What sort of errand?” Cordelia asked as she shut the front door after Jem’s retreating figure.

Alastair was beginning to lose track of all the quick excuses he was coming up with this afternoon. “There was something I promised to deliver to Thomas. A…” His eyes wandered to the mantle over the fireplace, where there was a collection of small ornamental weaponry. “…knife.” 

His sister frowned at him. “A knife?” she asked, raising a dark eyebrow at him. Alastair kicked himself for his lack of forethought. His only defense was his usual standby—drawing his sarcasm around himself like a thick set of Gear.

“Yes, Layla, a knife. Thomas Lightwood lost his to one of the demons in all the mess and I mentioned that I had a few to spare. Something Jem said reminded me that I should get it to him as soon as possible.”

“And you need to deliver this knife right now? In the middle of the afternoon?” She sounded like their mother and Alastair was both proud and exasperated. He didn’t need two women henpecking him at home.

“No time like the present. I prefer to follow through on my promises. And no one should go around London right now unarmed.”

The girl did not seem convinced. “You’re not…you’re not going out to see Charles are you?” She sounded gently concerned. It was only the genuinely worried tone of her voice that stopped him from snapping at her in annoyance.

“No, Cordelia, I’m not sneaking out to see Charles. As far as I’m concerned, he is dead to me.” He sighed and shook his head at her. He couldn’t be upset with her for long, especially since she was the only one who knew about his breaking things off with Charles. His mouth softened into a smile. “I can stop by that cake shop mother likes on my way home.”

Cordelia perked up at the mention of sweets. It was a trait she and her mother shared. “The shop with the candied ginger on the spice cake?”

“Yes, Layla. Now would you like to interrogate me further, or let me run my errand before the shops close?” 

With a look still tinged with suspicion, his sister shrugged and let him hurry past her up the stairs. 

Once in his room, Alastair cast about for the knife he was looking for. It was one of the weapons that had suffered the devastation in the aftermath of Thomas’s rejection. As he had been tidying and restoring his collectables back to their rightful places, he had noticed a pesh-kabz that he had brought from his home in Persia. It was a long-bladed knife that tapered down to a needle-like point with a bit of a recurve. Originally that type of knife was designed to pierce chain mail armor, but it would work just as well on demons. The hilt was simple unornamented bone but once the blade was drawn, one could see the intricate pattern of gold leafing around the blade, starting at the thickest part and scrolling down to the tip. More art was etched into the silver blade itself. 

Something about it reminded him of Thomas. The other boy seemed to think of himself as boring, as the “nice one” in his group of friends with no redeeming qualities. But, under the surface, Alastair had discovered there was so much more to Thomas than he let on. He loved that he was perhaps once of the few people outside Thomas’s immediate family who knew and appreciated his hidden depths.

Alastair pocketed the knife and went back down to the front hall. Cordelia was still there, just coming from the parlor after tending to the fire. Seeing her made him hesitate. “Layla, do you have a spare bit of cloth or ribbon I could have?”

The girl looked at him in shock a moment, then shook it off. She was clearly done trying to puzzle out his odd behavior today. “As a matter of fact, I do. I saved some scraps from a dress that Anna gave me that got ruined in battle. I was thinking of remaking them into something, but you can have one of the smaller bits. Wait here.” She dashed off to her room and was back a moment later carrying a long thin piece of kingfisher-blue fabric. “Will this do?” she asked, handing it to him.

“It’s perfect. Thank you,” he said and, after a moment’s pause, held out the knife so his sister could tie the fabric neatly around the hilt, ending in a bright jaunty bow. She handed Alastair his hat and, with a tip of it to her, he left in the direction of Golder’s Green.

It occurred to Alastair on his way that Thomas might not be at home or, worse, his entire family would be in residence. It was around three o’clock, still early for tea, so he hoped that Thomas would not be otherwise engaged. At this point, he knew he would just have to try his luck. As he walked along the street, he ducked under the long line of awnings covering the shops and keeping their customers out of the bright sunshine. The further he got, the more shops turned to houses along the way and he walked even further until the townhomes grew in size and luxury. Finally, he came to a wide four-story home that overlooked a little garden out front. It was squeezed next to an identical house on the right and on the left a drive led back an alley where the mews and carriage house were likely situated.

Gathering his bravery, with the knife hilt bushing encouragingly against his chest, he went to call at the door. His brisk knock was answered a few moments later by a young woman perhaps a few years his senior. She had dusty hair pinned up in a severe bun and her small, angular frame was sheathed in a nearly formless white mourning dress. She was holding a tall glass of water.  
“Yes?” she asked, squinting up at him. Her tone was terse but a little curious.

Alastair gave her a gentlemanly bow. “Do I have the honor of addressing Miss Eugenia Lightwood?” At her short nod, he continued. “I am afraid we have not been properly introduced. My name is Alastair Carstairs and my family has late arrived in London.”

Eugenia’s thin brown eyebrow rose at the mention of his surname. “Uncle Jem’s cousin Alastair?”

He nodded. “The same. I am delighted to make your acquaintance. Might I inquire if Thomas is home? He and I have become friends since my moving here and I hoped to speak to him.”  
The young woman’s face softened at the mention of her little brother. “He just came back from a ride and is in the stables around the back of the house. I was just about to bring him some water. You’re welcome to meet him there, unless I can offer you refreshment indoors while you wait for him?”

Alastair smiled at her. He knew he could be charming when he set his mind to it. “Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to trouble you. I shall see Thomas in the stables, and I would be happy to take him the glass, to save you a trip.” 

Eugenia looked pleased at his offer and handed him the cup with her thanks. Alastair gave another little bow and backed down the front steps. He followed the gravel drive around the side of the house to the back. Sure enough, it opened out into a little cobblestone courtyard with a line of stables and the carriage house beyond, shared with the house on the opposite side of the block. The stables were all red and brown brick, built two stories high with the horses’ living quarters below and rooms for servants above. The windows on the (presumably unoccupied) top floors all had flower boxes blooming with snapdragons and marigolds. All-in-all it was very tidy and picturesque. It was not the sort of living arrangement that just any family could afford, but the Lightwoods (despite their disgrace a generation before) were an old and well-to-do Shadowhunter legacy. They had established a comfortable living for themselves in town and Alastair found himself glad that Thomas grew up with all advantages, wanting for nothing.

“Alastair?”

He turned when he heard his name called in an all-too-familiar voice. He saw Thomas striding towards him from where he had let himself out of the main door to the stable. The warm clean smell of horses and hay drifted after him.

Thomas was wearing a Norfolk style riding jacket of brown wool and matching jodhpurs with buttons up the sides. The pants were tucked into high polished black boots that clung to the boy’s strong legs up past his knees. He wore a plaid cap with his windblown sandy hair sticking out from beneath it. There was dark horsehair sprinkled along the insides of his legs and they were dark with sweat. Seeing Thomas like this, fresh from a hard ride, flushed and happy, made Alastair’s stomach twist with want.

“Do you have a moment to talk?” he asked to distract himself from the delicious sight of the other boy. He had to keep reminding himself there was a reason for his visit other than gawking at the Lightwood boy.

Thomas removed his hat and dusted it against his thigh. “Sure. I was just going in to get some water, then I have to go rub down Brassy.”

“Here,” Alastair said, presenting Thomas with the cup. “Your sister sent this out for you.”

Thomas gave him a grateful smile. “Oh, cheers,” he said, taking it. Their fingers brushed as the glass was transferred and Alastair repressed a shiver at the brief contact. Thomas tipped the cup up to his lips and took a long drink, his throat working as he swallowed quickly. Sweat glistened in the groove under his jaw. 

Alastair was still staring at Thomas’s throat, the pulse beating there, when he realized Thomas had been speaking to him. “Pardon?” he said, reaching up to readjust his hat self-consciously.  
“I said, come into the mews and we can talk privately.” Thomas led the way and Alastair followed him into the stable and to a stall where a tall horse the color of, well, brass, was sipping water from a bucket mounted on the wall. Thomas let himself into her stall and took a cloth from the rail before beginning to rub it over her shiny coat.

“This is my mother’s horse, technically,” Thomas said conversationally, “But she hadn’t been out in a while, so we went to get some exercise. You can pet her if you like, she’s very friendly. You know, we should go for a ride sometime, just the two of us.”

Alastair took a step back as the animal poked her nose over the door of her stall to investigate the new person in her stable. He smoothed down the front of his vest with nervous fingers. “I must admit I’m not much of a horseman,” he said primly.

A disappointed look flitted across Thomas’s face before he hid it behind Brassy’s mane. Alastair felt a stab of regret and cleared his throat. “It’s not that I wouldn’t like to go with you, but I don’t care for horses. I had a bad experience with one as a child.”

“Oh,” said Thomas, perking back up. “I see. You know, they say when you take a fall you should get right back up on the horse before fear sets in. My father taught me that the first time I fell off our pony as a boy.”

Alastair picked at a piece of hay that had made its way onto his trousers. “I didn’t fall…I was…bitten.” Despite his best efforts, he felt his cheeks color with embarrassment. No matter how he said it, he knew this made him sound like a spineless baby.

Thomas paused in his rub-down. “Oh…is that…all?” he asked gently.

“It was enough!” Alastair protested, “Cordelia’s palfrey was very mean-spirited—wouldn’t let anyone but her ride it. I got too close and…it bit me. I’ve kept my distance from horses ever since.”  
It was very clear to him that Thomas was now struggling to stifle an outburst of laughter, but he appreciated at least the attempt to conceal it. It occurred to him that with anyone else he would have been mortified to tell that story, but with Thomas, he didn’t feel as worried about losing his dignity. Still, he had had quite enough of the conversation.

“The reason I came,” he said sternly, “was to tell you that I have news from Brother Zachariah.”

This stopped Thomas’s giggling immediately. He looked up over the crest of Brassy’s neck to catch Alastair’s eye.

“Was it good news? Is Professor Fell going to help us?”

Alastair briefly relayed the conditions for the warlock’s assistance, including both the travel plans and Jem’s proposed Shadowhunter/Silent Brother training program.   
Thomas stared at him, hazel eyes wide with possibility. “You mean the two of us would travel to Idris for a week? Together?” He said the last word softly, almost reverently.  
That brought a private smile to Alastair’s lips. It seemed Thomas had also realized the implications of their being alone together for a long period of uninterrupted time. 

“That is the plan, if you are amenable to it. My cousin seemed to think that if we wanted answers, this was our best chance.”

“Right, answers,” Thomas echoed dreamily, but his thoughts were clearly far away. Alastair was gratified to see that the other boy seemed as interested as he was in the thought of what they might get up to, given the chance to explore each other unimpeded. He eventually came back to the present when the horse nosed him to continue her massage. “Do the Carstairs still have lodging in Idris?” he asked.

Alastair shook his head. “Not since my father purchased Cirenworth, and we are in Idris but rarely.”

Thomas hummed his understanding, thinking out loud. “Well, my family does keep a townhome in Alicante, but if we’re to be meeting with Professor Fell, it might be easier to stay in Lightwood Manor, since it’s closer to his cabin. I’m sure no one will mind; we’re all in London now so it’s sitting empty.” The longer he spoke, the more excited he became. “Alastair,” he went on, lowering his voice, “We’d have the entire manor to ourselves!” He looked so pleased that Alastair could not hold himself back. He reached over the stall door and took a hold of Thomas’s riding jacket, pulling the boy closer. With a quick glance around to ensure their privacy, he gave Thomas a heated kiss, which the other boy eagerly returned. They broke apart quickly afterward, but Thomas was still grinning, his lips wet and red.

“So, am I to assume it is safe to contact Jem with an affirmative reply?” Alastair teased.

“I believe that is a safe assumption, Mr. Carstairs,” Thomas returned. Finished with his task, he let himself out of Brassy’s stall and motioned Alastair to precede him from the stable. They both walked out into the bright sunlight. “I’m sure my parents will agree, especially if I tell them that Jem is involved. I can be ready to leave by tomorrow afternoon, if that is soon enough. We can send Jem a message straightaway.” 

The two of them quickly made plans to meet at the Lightwood’s home and travel together from there to the Institute to use the Portal in the cellar. Alastair had rarely seen his companion so excited, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an oversized toddler. He had also rarely smiled so much.

Alastair was about to leave to send their reply to Jem when a brush against his chest reminded him of the excuse he’d told Cordelia for coming all the way up to Golder’s Green. “I have something for you,” he said, speaking softly, even though it was not a secret. 

“For me?” Thomas echoed, looking stunned. It occurred to Alastair that the other boy had never been given a gift by a lover before. He’d had a few from Charles (a pair of kidskin gloves, a rare Persian book) but he belatedly realized this would be his first time giving anything of meaning to Thomas. It made the words stick in his throat a moment before he managed to get them out.

“I believe you lost a knife in the battle against Belial’s demons. This one…made me think of you.” He pulled out the pesh-kabz, still sporting its kingfisher-blue ribbon, and handed it to Thomas, hilt-first. Thomas took it sheepishly and drew the blade. His mouth dropped open a little when his wide hazel eyes beheld the beautiful etched scrollwork around the blade, ending in an elegant needle-point.

“This is lovely,” he breathed, examining it under the light of the sun. “I’ve never seen a blade like it. Is it Persian?”

Alastair nodded and informed him of its name and traditional use while Thomas listened, intrigued. It was always a safe bet to get a Shadowhunter boy a weapon as a gift.

“I like the ribbon; it’s a nice touch,” Thomas said, untying it so he could slip the knife into his pocket. 

On impulse, Alastair reached out for it. “Here,” he said and, before he could stop himself, pushed up the jacket cuff over Thomas’s left arm and wound the scrap of cloth around his wrist, tying it off neatly. He pulled the sleeve back down concealing the ribbon, but kept his fingers on Thomas’s warm hand a moment longer before letting go.

“Tomorrow, then?” he said.

“Tomorrow,” Thomas confirmed, and his happy smile was the widest Alastair had ever seen it.


	9. Travels (Thomas)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to think of a polite way to say "Happy New Year, here's some smut!" but this is all I can come up with. Anyways, let's ring in the new year with Thomas and Alastair having some "alone time" in Lightwood Manor <3
> 
> Thanks, as always, for your continued support of this story! My goal is to have it done before Chain of Iron comes out and hopefully sooner. We're pretty much in the home stretch now that the boys have made it to Idris.
> 
> I'm always happy to hear comments and suggestions :)
> 
> I will also shamelessly say my M/M werewolf romance book is now on Kindle: "Two Alphas (Are Better Than One)" Check it out if you're into shapeshifters, slow burn pining, and a little bit of mystery.

Thomas spent the next morning packing up roughly half the contents of his room and then unpacking most of it again. He wasn’t sure what he would need on his trip to Idris. What did one pack for a week of meeting werewolves, warlocks, and a boy with whom he shared a love rune? Thomas rarely travelled alone, excepting his trip to Paris, but even then he had had lodging and meals provided as well as a rough itinerary. Besides clothes, toiletries, books, and a few choice weapons, Thomas wasn’t sure what would be needed. He wasn’t too worried, however. Alastair travelled a lot so he had probably packed anything that Thomas had forgotten.

As his worried mother had reminded him repeatedly over dinner, he and Alastair were going to be fairly self-sufficient, living for at least a week on their own in the Lightwood Manor. The thought made him shiver with a mixture of delight and dread. He couldn’t wait for the chance to get to know Alastair better away from the pressures of society and family. It was his opportunity to see the other boy’s true self. He just wasn’t so sure about Alastair getting to know him better. What if, when all they had was each other for company, Alastair decided Thomas wasn’t who he wanted to be with? Thomas had been called boring and bookish more times than he could count—the “kind one” of his family, and nothing more. What if Alastair felt the same?

Thomas tried to rid himself of those negative thoughts and threw himself back into his packing frenzy, trying to think of anything else that might be of use when they got to Idris. Transportation, at least, had been thoughtfully provided for their stay. Jem had sent him a short note of confirmation of their trip early that morning and mentioned that he had seen to it a pair of horses were borrowed and stabled at Lightwood manor so the boys would have transportation to Fell’s cabin or Alicante should they wish to travel into town. They would return them to the glass city upon the completion of their stay when they travelled to the Gard to use the portal there back to the London Institute. Thomas had grinned at that—perhaps he might be able to help Alastair overcome his boyhood fear of horses during their time together.

Thomas was putting the finishing touches on his travel bag (which bulged with several more books that he probably needed for a week away) when he heard a soft knock at the door. His mother peeked inside, taking in the chaos he had created of his usually tidy room during his packing venture.

“Are you certain you boys are all right going alone?” Sophie asked. It was about the fifth time she had asked this morning. Ever since Thomas’s youth when he had been a small and sickly boy, Sophie Lightwood had never gotten over worrying about her youngest child. It was simply reflex now to hover and check him for fever, even though he was all of eighteen years old and quite bigger and stronger than most people in their acquaintance. 

Thomas smiled at his mother. “We’ll be fine, Mum. Alastair and I have fought terrible demons together—a week in the countryside is hardly fraught with danger.”  
“I’m not worried about demons,” Sophie clarified, “I’m worried about you being in a big house by yourselves.” The words _with Alastair Carstairs of all people_ went unspoken. She had initially been completely against Thomas going anywhere with that boy, but when Thomas explained that Jem had selected them specifically, his mother had grudgingly accepted it. Now she had found new things to worry about. “What will you eat? We could send Bridget with you.”

He gathered up his bag and satchel and leaned down to kiss his mother’s cheek. “We’ll find something to eat. Don’t fret. Alastair won’t let me starve.”

On cue, Alastair appeared in the doorway outside Thomas’s room. The other boy was dressed for travel and laden with luggage: a leather garment bag and another bulging satchel with what Thomas guessed was an assortment of weapons and books. At his feet was a large wicker basket with the black letters “F & M” painted onto the side. Thomas laughed and pointed at the Fortnum and Mason luncheon hamper. “See, Alastair already has the food taken care of.” It took him a moment to realize that the boy he loved could see into his unholy mess of a bedroom and he quickly shuffled out and closed the door behind him.

“Good morning, Alastair,” Sophie said cordially. She may have been wearing a light day dress, but her stiff stance belayed her Shadowhunter training, as though she was ready for a fight at any moment. Her cautious attitude was the best that could be expected given the poisonous rumors Alastair had spread about her years ago. Unlike her husband, Sophie was like to hold grudges against those that had wronged her or her family. Still, Thomas knew she was trying to be accepting—at least Alastair had made it past the front door unscathed. 

“Hello, Mrs. Lightwood,” Alastair said with a formal little bow. “Thank you for allowing Thomas to accompany me. My cousin thought we might work well together on this mission.”

Sophie eyed the boy thoughtfully. “Jem does have his ways, even though sometimes it’s difficult to see what they are.” She crossed her arms and gave him a stare worthy of a mother bear. “I trust you will look out for each other.”

“I will protect your son with my life,” Alastair said with more gravity than either Thomas or Sophie had expected. It gave Thomas a pleasant feeling like warm syrup in his stomach.

Upon hearing Alastair’s declaration, Sophie relaxed the smallest fraction. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” She waved to their bags. “We should get this all loaded into the carriage. Gideon is ready to drive you to the Institute.”

Thomas grabbed his bag and the hamper, shooting Alastair a smile of welcome. He wanted so badly to touch the other boy, drawn to him as he always was, but he had to remind himself that they would be alone together soon enough. Instead, he helped Alastair lug their baggage out front and together they put their belongings in the Lightwood carriage. They climbed into the back and Thomas stuck his head out the window to wave good-bye to his mother. He was rarely away from home for so long and he knew she would miss him, even more so with the recent loss of his sister Barbara.

When he pulled his head back into the carriage, he caught Alastair giving him a surprisingly fond look. He sat down across from the other boy, hands in his lap.

“I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” he said. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this excited about anything.

“It has been a bit of a whirlwind,” Alastair conceded. He flicked some imaginary dirt off his trousers. “My cousin certainly pulled everything together well. If he was not a Silent Brother or a Shadowhunter, he could have a very promising career in travel planning.”

Thomas chuckled. He loved Alastair’s sense of humor, which so rarely presented itself. “We’ll have to have him plan a real vacation for us sometime. Perhaps you can take me to see one of the places you’ve visited in your travels. Or,” he added with a sudden inspiration, “I’d very much like to see your home in Persia.”

Alastair’s brown eyes softened. “I would love to take you to Persia, Thomas. You would do so well there. And Egypt, and Greece, and Rome. We could make a Grand Tour of it like the mundanes do when they come of age.”

Thomas gave a wistful sigh. “That sounds glorious.” Not just visiting the exotic, historical places he’d reach so much about in his books, but the particular company of his travelling companion as well. Although he took his duty as a Shadowhunter very seriously and would not wish for anything else for his life, Thomas did once in a while find himself wondering what life might be like if he was free of his sacred duty. But, had he never been a Shadowhunter, he would not have met Alastair and that thought was unacceptable.

It was a short trip to the Institute and they rode the rest of the way in companionable silence, each boy pondering his own private thoughts. When they arrived and gathered their things from the carriage, Tessa Herondale greeted them at the front door. If she was any less happy to see Alastair than Thomas, her friendly smile did not show it. She waved Gideon off and took up the hamper to help the two of them into the vestibule.

“What an intriguing adventure you boys are embarking on,” she said, leading them through the Institute towards the passage to the catacombs. “Jem had told Will and I of his training idea a while ago. I’m glad the Silent Brothers have decided to allow it. I think it sounds like a wonderful opportunity to learn about Shadowhunter protocol and teamwork. And, saying this as someone who has been but rarely, one should never pass up a trip to Idris.”

“We’re very excited to give it a try,” Thomas told his aunt. He realized belatedly that he might have sounded a little too excited at simply the prospect of observing his uncle mediate a werewolf pack dispute.

“I hear Magnus Bane will be in Idris as well,” Tessa said as she ushered them through a doorway that led down a dark, cool flight of stone steps. “You should call on him if you have the time. I’m sure he’d love to catch up on the goings on in London.”

The warlock’s name struck something inside of Thomas, a memory of something Matthew had once said in one of his long, tragic soliloquies about his ardent admiration of one, Magnus Bane. Magnus, like Matthew (and, Thomas mused, himself it seemed) fancied men. Perhaps the warlock might be able to impart some words of advice to Thomas about his relationship with Alastair. 

All night Thomas had been up, unable to sleep as he thought about their impending time together. He knew Alastair was much more experienced than he was in the ways of lovers, and he wondered about how their physical relationship might progress when they had a week to explore one another. He’d heard things from Matthew, hints of acts that he had performed with other men, but at the time Thomas had turned him out. Now he wished he had listened a little more attentively so he knew what Alastair might expect. He wasn’t worried, _per se_ , but apprehension did unfurl deep in his stomach at the thought of not being able to give Alastair what he had had with Charles or Augustus. Thomas wished he had had time to ask Matthew about it, but he also had a feeling Matthew would not at all approve of his involvement with Alastair. Magnus, however, might not hold the same prejudice and may be in a position to pass along some words of wisdom. Thomas made a mental note to seek the warlock out if they had some time to spare.

The two boys and their baggage made the trip down into the catacombs where the Portal was waiting for them in Henry Branwell’s former laboratory. Thomas had used the Portal only once before but he trusted the blend of magic and science that made it possible. He noticed Alastair glance at the doorway framed with seraphic and demonic runes with a brief look of misgiving.

“Well, here we are,” Tessa said. She handed him the hamper and stepped back, giving them room to assemble before the Portal. “Whenever you’re ready. You remember how to use it, Thomas?”

The boy nodded. “Yes, Aunt Tessa. I just need to visualize the destination in my mind and hold it steady.” He looked over at Alastair. “Shall we head straight for Lightwood Manor?” He got a stiff nod of agreement in return. Thomas smiled sympathetically. He had been nervous too, his first time using the Portal. So far, no one who had used it had suffered any ill affects, so he was happy to think of it as perfectly safe.

“All right then. In we go. Goodbye, Aunt Tessa.” He waved at Mrs. Herondale and then directed his attention to the doorway. With an image of his childhood home firmly held in his mind, he took a deep breath and stepped through the swirling vortex. He sensed Alastair directly behind him before he completely left the London Institute and went beyond. 

Thomas walked out the other side of the Portal to see the large manor house that belonged to the Lightwood family looming just a few yards in front of him. It was on the smaller side of the manors of the oldest families in Idris and had only recently been in use. The Lightwoods two generations before him took their residence at Chiswick House near London, but his grandfather’s home had been granted to his Aunt Tatiana Blackthorn after the tragic events of his father’s youth. His father had moved the family to Idris when his eldest sister was born and they had remained there largely until Thomas was a teenager before relocating to London soon after he left Shadowhunter Academy. He had so many fond childhood memories of this home, but he was excited about the prospect of making new ones with Alastair.

Thomas let out the breath he had been holding as he entered the Portal and inhaled the sweet, slightly magical air of the Shadowhunter home county. The air in Idris was always sweet and fresh, and not just because it was cleaner than the fog and smoke of London air. He felt like he had been holding his breath for the past few weeks, and for the first time he was able to let it out and breath in new air. He sensed Alastair’s arrival beside him and noticed the other boy also take a deep, cleansing breath. The air in Idris always had slight zesty, metallic smell to it, like a mountain stream. The high deposits of Adamas were the cause but to Thomas, he relished the familiar smell of home. 

He was distracted from his reverie when his companion suddenly discarded his baggage, then leaned in and began to mouth at Thomas’s neck, one arm curling around him. He let out an encouraging moan and tilted his head so Alastair could move his lips to his throat. The older boy scraped his teeth teasingly over Thomas’s Adam’s apple and he shuddered, dropping his satchel to reach out and pull Alastair close. This was something they could never do back in London, kiss one another in spontaneous moments of passion. Sneaking around and always worrying about being caught was draining, and Thomas hadn’t realized quite so much until now. In Idris, the two of them were finally alone and they both reveled in the freedom to share their affection openly. Thomas laughed as the weight that had settled in his chest weeks ago lifted. Alastair grumbled, chasing his lips.

After a few moments of blissful kissing, it occurred to Thomas that though they had left London, Idris was still full of Shadowhunters, any of whom might pass by, even near the empty Lightwood family house. He pushed a little at Alastair’s chest, reluctantly putting space between them. “Shouldn’t you wait to molest me until we at least get in the door?” he asked, his lilting tone taking any of the sting out of his momentary rejection.

The other boy rolled his dark eyes. “If you absolutely insist.” He bent to gather their bags and followed Thomas up the walk to the front gate. The intricately woven wrought iron gate recognized Thomas’s Lightwood blood and swung open for the two of them, shutting again firmly when they passed. Thomas paused a moment to watch Alastair stare up the gravel drive, taking in the sight of the Lightwood estate. These days it was mostly used in the summer when the family retired to Idris during the season, and had been empty for several weeks. Thomas and Alastair had readily agreed on the manor for their temporary place of residence, both for its proximity to Ragnor Fell’s home on the northern outskirts of Brocelind Forest and for being deliciously far away from Alicante and prying eyes of other Shadowhunters.

Once inside, Thomas put his load down in the entryway and wandered off to one of the sitting rooms. The furniture and hanging light fixtures were all covered in great white sheets to protect them from dust and time and the room looked like something out of a ghostly fairytale. It was always his favorite part of the beginning of summer when he got to rip off the sheets and beat them on a line out behind the house. 

Thomas figured they wouldn’t need to bother with too much in this room, or many of the others, as they would only be staying a week. He turned to ask Alastair if he wanted a tour of the house before they got settled in. To his great surprise, Thomas saw that the other boy was already hurrying toward him and a moment later Alastair _tackled_ him, arms tight about his lower body. Thomas and he tumbled over onto one of the cloth-covered couches, sending up a cloud of dust. 

“Oof!” Thomas grunted as Alastair landed on top of him. The shorter boy’s eyes were bright with hunger, blown completely black, and Thomas stared up into them, unable to breathe with the sudden anticipation. Alastair ducked down and kissed him, devouring Thomas’s lips. Thomas opened for him eagerly and scooted up the couch so his back rested against the padded arm and Alastair slid into place between his long legs. He had not been expecting them to do anything together quite so fast, but he was absolutely not going to complain. He had been yearning to feel Alastair’s body close to his again since their little rendezvous in the Devil Tavern. 

Every little movement of Alastair against him caused that passion to flare inside Thomas. He felt his pants grow tight almost immediately and he might have had the presence of mind to be embarrassed if Alastair had not been kissing him senseless. The other boy pushed his body down into his with purpose, settling on top so they were nose-to-nose. This caused his hardness to brush against Alastair’s stomach and the friction was quickly becoming maddening. Thomas’s hips jutted up to meet Alastair’s and the other boy groaned into his mouth. Even that quick touch of their bodies was enough for Thomas to feel that Alastair’s trousers were also grown much tighter. It was an intoxicating feeling, knowing that simply being with him made Alastair so eager for more.

Thomas reached up to bury his hands in his lover’s hair, clenching the thick black strands. _Angel_ , he loved that hair. He hadn’t said anything when Alastair dyed it back after breaking things off with Charles, but he secretly loved the natural black much better than the false blond. 

Alastair thrust down against him, matching the undulating rhythm of his hips as he continued to seek out more friction. Thomas gasped when he felt the other boy’s hands slide between them and fumble at the catch on his trousers. There was so much pressure, he couldn’t wait for them to be off and Alastair’s hands offered relief. 

“Is this ok, Thomas?” Alastair breathed against his lips. The question brought a spark of warmth. Thomas appreciated how carefully Alastair progressed their activities, always making sure Thomas was comfortable, despite their eagerness.

Thomas’s hips stuttered and he bucked desperately up into the other boy’s capable hands. “Please, Alastair,” he gasped. He wasn’t certain for what he was asking, exactly, but he knew that Alastair would take care of him. That knowledge was implicit and now that they were alone, there was nothing to stop them from exploring everything with each other. Thomas’s stomach clenched when he felt the catch of his trousers’ release and the zipper being eased down over his growing erection. Belatedly, he realized he should be reciprocating Alastair’s movements and he tried to maneuver his hands, searching blindly, but the other boy gently brushed his hands away.

“Let me do this for you, _delbar-am_. You have all week to make it up to me, if you like.” As he spoke, he tugged the open trousers down, exposing Thomas’s lower body to the cool air of the empty house. His breath hitched, staring down at himself, watching Alastair’s hungry eyes do the same. His erection strained against the fabric of his underclothes and, to his embarrassment, it had already left a clear, wet stain. He wore not the typical union suit that was the underwear of choice for gentlemen at the moment, but the summer version usually meant for athletes. It was common dress among male Shadowhunters, as the cut off sleeves and legs gave them better mobility when wearing gear, or fighting a stray demon in plainclothes. 

Alastair reached out and touched the tip of a finger to the wet spot and Thomas’s hardness twitched eagerly. The boy groaned in appreciation when Thomas’s body responded to his touch. 

“There is something about seeing another boy in his underclothes, so close to being completely revealed, that makes my blood run hot,” Alastair murmured, almost as if to himself. He didn’t take the time to fuss with the long line of buttons between them; he only undid the few that covered Thomas’s cock. Thomas gasped as Alastair deftly drew it out, and it stood proudly at attention, flushed and full. It was proportional to Thomas’s height (not that Thomas had seen many other boys’ cocks, and thus could not really make a comparison). Alastair licked his lips at the sight of it.

Thomas felt a rush of emotions at the intimacy of the moment and it was impossible to disconnect them all. He continued to feel embarrassment at letting someone else see him in such a state of wanton undress, not to mention touching him somewhere so private. It wasn’t bad, though, far from it, simply new and therefore laced with uncertainly. He felt such passion and tenderness for Alastair, more than he had felt for any other person, and that too was overwhelming, but in a good way. More than anything, Thomas realized with a little surprise, he felt deliriously _happy_. Happy to be touched with such care and hunger, happy to be with someone he was growing to love with such intensity, and happy to leave behind all the burdens of his life at home as a son, a brother, a friend, and a Shadowhunter, and simply _beaziz-am_?” _My dear_. Thomas melted at the endearment and let his arm go slack. He took a shuddering breath and, willing himself to relax, deliberately laid back down on the couch, putting his hands over his head to brace them on the wooden arm. It forced his body into a long, open line; in effect, an offering to Alastair.

“Keep going,” he said, the deep timbre of his voice shocking him momentarily.

“What a feast you are,” Alastair said. His dark eyes raked over Thomas’s exposed frame, followed by his hands, touching as much as he could through the taller boy’s clothes. Then he returned to this original destination. He leaned over and blew warm breath over Thomas’s erection, which jerked in response at the sensation. Thomas gasped and tightened his grip on the wood. 

Alastair took pity on him and opened his mouth wide before going down on him, taking in as much as he could. He could accommodate a surprising amount and Thomas watched wordlessly as his cock disappeared into his lover’s mouth. It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen in his life and nothing, not even a demon attack, could have made him look away.

Alastair bobbed his head slowly up and down over Thomas’s length, bringing his lips almost to the base of him then drawing back to swirl his tongue around the head before repeating his motion. He did this again and again as Thomas was taken apart bit by bit. He could have lain there for hours letting Alastair suck him with tender purpose, but all too quickly be felt a flood build up inside of him and his legs began to tremble with the effort of holding back. The couch’s arm creaked alarmingly as he clenched it with white-knuckled fingers. Brought nearly to the breaking point, Thomas knew he could not hold on any longer. 

“Al-Alastair! I can’t—!"

Alastair pulled off of him and replaced most of his mouth with his hand, keeping just the tip touching his lips. He gripped Thomas with just the right amount of roughness and pumped him steadily, gaining speed. “Let go, Thomas. Do it for me,” he encouraged, mouth brushing against him urgently.

Thomas surged up, the muscles in his belly tightening as he came undone. He spilled over Alastair’s lips and hand and the other boy moved him through it, slowing incrementally until he was fully spent and collapsed bonelessly back onto the couch.

It was a few moments before Thomas was aware of Alastair moving up his body, crawling closer until they were chest-to-chest. Alastair leaned in, lips still glistening with Thomas’s spent fluid. He hesitated over Thomas’s mouth, letting him decide if he wanted the kiss. Thomas didn’t need to think about it. He tipped his head back and met Alastair’s lips with his own. He let Alastair lick into his mouth, passing him the taste of himself on the other boy’s tongue. It was filthy and perfect and nearly enough to make Thomas’s erection make a reappearance.

Out of breath, Thomas pulled away and Alastair laid down on top of him. Thomas reached out to smooth a hand through Alastair’s hair. He knew he must look utterly ghastly, but the other boy was not much better off. His lips were swollen and they still glistened obscenely. Alastair glanced up at him and both their pairs of eyes were drawn to the ribbon he had tied to Thomas’s wrist yesterday, exposed now by the disheveled state of his clothes. At some point during their activities, the knot had become untied and the ends hung loosely from his arm. Thomas let Alastair reach out to touch it, thinking that he was going to retie it. Instead, he let out of noise of protest when the other boy slid it off with a rustle of fabric.

“Patience,” Alastair said as he sat up, placing a finger against Thomas’s lips. “I know a better spot where no one but me will see this.”

Thomas was confused only a moment before Alastair leaned down and started to twine the ribbon around his flagging erection, under his sac. The touch of the silk against his over-sensitive skin was sweet torture, as was the slight tug Alastair gave the ribbon before tying it off with a neat bow. Thomas stared down at his new accessory, hazel eyes wide with wonder. Seeing the kingfisher blue against his pale skin and dark curls was both scandalous and arousing. 

“Every time you see this, or feel it against your skin, it will remind you that you’re mine.” Alastair’s voice was husky with emotion and Thomas shivered at the sound of it. He slid his arm lazily up Alastair’s right arm and leaned in to press a kiss over the agape rune burned there.

“I am not likely to forget,” Thomas reminded him. “Though I will have to devise a lover’s token for you as well—fair is fair.”

Alastair gave him his signature smirk as he replaced the buttons on Thomas’s union suit, after wiping him off with a corner of the couch cover. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”  
Thomas tried to smirk mischievously at him in return, but it came out too genuine, which belied his happy, languid state. 

“Speaking of up, we should probably get our things put away in our rooms upstairs. I can give you a tour while it’s still light out—which is what I meant to ask before I was assaulted,” he added playfully. He actually could have lain beneath Alastair all afternoon but at the same time, now that their more amorous activities had ceased for the present, he wasn’t sure how to act and felt a little awkward knowing that Alastair had just seen him nearly naked.

Alastair sighed and retreated, sitting back to begin righting his clothes. “If you insist.” As he fumbled with his waistcoat buttons, and Thomas did the same, Thomas got the distinct impression that something heavy had settled between them and Alastair was avoiding his eyes. He was about to say something, ask if he’d done something wrong, when he heard Alastair’s voice, nearly a whisper. “I haven’t forced you into anything, have I?” He paused, wet his lips, and continued, addressing the floor. “I forget that you don’t have my experience and if I pushed you too much—”  
Thomas scrambled up (a feat for a tall boy sharing a small couch with another boy) and knelt beside Alastair, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Of course not! I’m sure you could tell that I liked it. I was surprised, to be sure. I never imagined something like…that. But I wanted you to do it. I…maybe want to do it to you.” The last part passed his lips without forethought, but Thomas knew as he said it that it was the truth. 

Alastair finally allowed their eyes to meet and Thomas was shocked to see that his were red and shone with withheld tears. He gasped and reached out to touch a finger to Alastair’s cheek, where one had escaped. “Are you all right? I didn’t say the wrong thing, did I?”

The boy shook his head and moved a hand up to cover Thomas’s gently. “No, you are perfect. Too much so. I don’t deserve you, but I am much too selfish not to keep you.”

Thomas sighed in relief and rested his head against Alastair’s shoulder. “I’m yours,” he confirmed. “We’ll figure this out together. You can teach me.”

“It would be my absolute pleasure.”


	10. Bearings (Alastair)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Happy Valentines Day! Here is another chapter. It's extra long since I didn't want to break up the action in the second half. It's a lot of introspection from Alastair's perspective. Thanks, as always, for sticking with this story. I'm really hoping to have it al finished before Chain of Iron comes out but I also don't want to rush the ending, so we'll see how it goes. Let me know if you're liking it and if there's anything you want to see before the end!

Alastair found it unsurprisingly difficult to concentrate on Thomas’s tour of Lightwood Manor. He was still somewhat in shock about what he had done to the other boy just minutes before—and that fact that sweet, innocent Thomas had let him. Enthusiastically. 

As usually happened, as soon as the act was over and their bodies had cooled, dread settled over Alastair like a heavy mantle. Worry ate at him until his stomach felt like it carried a large, unmovable stone inside. Thomas had put some of his doubt to rest about the sincerity of his participation. But Thomas’s reaction wasn’t the only one weighting on his mind now that he had time to think without passion driving his brain. Now all he could imagine, as he was guided through Thomas’s childhood home, were all the ways Gideon and Sophie Lightwood would have him murdered and disposed of if they ever found out what he had done to their precious son in their home.

Thomas, on the other hand, seemed energized by their recent activities. He exuded an air of happy contentment as he led Alastair through the house, pointing out landmarks such as the carpet that bore an ichor stain where he had dispatched a demon when he was seven, and the chair he had damaged by running it though with his first seraph blade. Alastair wanted to savor these glimpses into Thomas’s past, and he filed the memories away to think about later, but right now all he could see where the ghosts of Lightwood relatives past, all disapproving of what he had shared with Thomas in their ancestral manor. Well, expect perhaps his grandfather, Benedict. That madman might have applauded their union—which didn’t make Alastair feel any better about it.

Alastair tried to focus on where he was, picking out small details in the house around him to keep him grounded in the present and away from his anxious inner voice. He hadn’t cared much for the décor when they first came in the entry hall, his thoughts only of finally being able to take Thomas apart with his mouth. Now he attempted to take an interest in his surroundings.  
Much of the interior of Lightwood Manor was of a structurally integrated design with dark hardwood floors and exposed wood supports in the same shade. Polished beams of pine crested overhead in vaulted ceilings, blending in warmly with red velvet wallpaper and plush Persian rugs. A peek in the training room revealed that the space had once been a chapel and had been converted for the Shadowhunters’ holy purpose later in life. Its wood-panels walls still retained the carved quatrefoil designs, letting in shaded light from small, evenly-space windows, and the limestone fireplace mantle held a dusty assortment of training blades. Through the windows he could see a perfect green quadrangle and the cloisters on the other three sides that led to the outbuildings and kitchen.

Overall, the impression Alastair got was that the manor had become a balanced combination of an ancient country abbey and a cozy hunting lodge. Improvements had been made over the years, adding décor as styles changed, such as the posh furniture and crystal chandeliers added to soften the older rooms. When his father had purchased Cirenworth, it had been a mundane home, so his family redecorated it as they chose. But here the Lightwood Manor was a legacy Shadowhunter home and much had remained untouched after centuries of life, though personal additions were scattered here and there, blending seamlessly in with the older décor. 

He could image Thomas living in every inch of it and as they walked, his mind inserted himself into his brief daydreams unbidden. He could see them training together in the chapel. Thomas would trip and they would go tumbling down to the floor together, entwined and uncaring. As they walked the cloisters, he could see himself pressing Thomas up against a stone beam in the open colonnade, kissing him breathless on the bench with bright sunlight shining on them from the garden. 

He nearly choked when Thomas’s voice cut through his romances, interrupting a particularly scandalous scene of them sunbathing nude side by side in the quadrangle, then rolling towards one another and—.

“I know my way around the kitchen, too,” Thomas was saying as they passed the entrance to the sub-level room. “Our basket won’t last a week—we can maybe ride into town tomorrow for something to fill the larder. And I can cook for us.”

Imagining Thomas in a kitchen apron with cooking flour dusted over his cheeks while he baked was almost his undoing and Alastair hastily tamped down on further reveries for the moment. “More of your mother’s recipes?” he asked quickly. It was so easy to be enchanted by Thomas’s zeal despite his own gloomy mood. 

“Indeed! I can make scones—my papa’s favorite—and roast chicken, and shepherd’s pie…”

“That all sounds delightful,” Alastair said with true meaning. He was rewarded when Thomas beamed at him. He thought that that boy’s perfect smile could lead him straight into Edom and he would go most willingly.

The tour continued back up onto the ground floor, past Thomas’s parents’ suite of rooms on the opposite side of the house, and then Thomas helped him collect their bags as they ascended the grand, two-tiered staircase up to the younger Lightwoods’ first floor bedrooms. Thomas pointed out Eugenia’s room at the end closest the stairs and his other sister’s next to it. His voice cracked a moment when he said Barbara’s name and Alastair put a steadying hand on his shoulder as Thomas took a moment to mourn the fact that his last sister would never again set foot inside her childhood room. 

“That’s mine, on the other end,” Thomas pointed out after rallying his good spirits once again. “The middle one, next to Barbara’s, serves as our better guestroom, though there are a few above as well. You can take that one, if you like, and store your things.”

Alastair nodded silently and they parted to unpack. He knew he shouldn’t read anything into the fact that Thomas was offering him the nicest guestroom rather than them sharing Thomas’s room. He shouldn’t have even entertained the possibility, though it had certainly crossed his mind. It made sense for them to have separate spaces to store their belongings, and between their time spent with Jem and the werewolves, and Rangor and his spells, they would hardly be in the manor much, except to sleep. But, Angel help him, Alastair would have loved to know what it felt like to sleep beside Thomas, feeling the other boy’s warmth beside him. And not even in a sexual way; he simply craved the closeness he had not dared to hope for until recently. It was also entirely possible he was overthinking the entire situation

Turning his melancholy thoughts to other things, it didn’t take Alastair long to remove the protective sheets over the room’s furniture and shake the dust off them out the long window. The early afternoon sun streamed in, warning his mood little a little. He left the window open to air out the room and put away his clothes in the wardrobe after checking it for moths. He hadn’t brought much else besides weapons and books, most of which he stowed on the writing desk for now. The one thing he did leave out was his gear, which he changed into so he could be ready to go when Brother Zachariah came to collect the two of them for their mission briefing. Alastair was used to taking his gear on and off for his constant training and Clave missions, so it only took him a few minutes to get everything the way he liked it. He added a pair of seraph blades crossed at the small of his back, several small throwing knives lined the outside of the bracers on his shins, and at least three retractable spears were hidden elsewhere on his body.

When he was finished, Alastair walked down the hall to Thomas’s room, in a strange echo of what he had done only that morning. At least this time he did not have Sophie Lightwood stalking beside him like a demon about to go in for the kill. Angel help him if she even found out what they had done in her drawing room.

The door at the end of the hall was propped open with a shoe, so Alastair knocked on the door jamb as he peered into Thomas’s childhood bedroom. Like him, Thomas had opened a window and fresh, warm air breezed through the room, ruffling the sheets on the bed. Thomas turned at the sound of the knock and grinned.

“As much as I love London, now, it’s good to be home.” He made a sweeping gesture about him, encompassing his hasty unpacking, which was spread out all over his bed and the other available surfaces. “Is your room all right? Oh, you’re in gear as well. Good man. Uncle Jem should be here any time to take us to meet the Brocelind Pack.”

Thomas had started to put on his gear as well, but had only gotten as far as the second layer; a loose, dark grey shirt hung open off his wide shoulders. In his hand he held the next layer, which consisted of thick leather chest guard and greaves for his arms. Alastair wanted to see him in just the leather armor and nothing else. Perhaps later when they returned to the manor…

“It’s lovely,” he replied, but his room was far from his mind as he gazed at the figure of his lover, framed by the afternoon sun in the window, which gave him an ethereal glow about the edges.

Thomas picked up on the direction Alastair’s mind had been drawn and blushed, ducking his head to the side with a shy smile. Alastair didn’t want to embarrass him too much, so he added. “Shall I help you with the rest? My cousin is very punctual.” Of course his offer had nothing to do with the fact that it gave him an excuse to touch Thomas as much as he pleased.

Thomas handed over the armor and Alastair got to work, buckling the chest guard into place. He used the length of leather lacing Thomas handed him to secure the sleeves of his shirt, leaving one pulled back to his elbow for emergency runes. Not that he thought they would be needing any during their initial meeting with the werewolf pack, but it was traditional. Besides, it gave Alastair an excellent view of the other boy’s tattoo and the rune he had somehow put there. 

The greaves followed, covering Thomas’s wrists and bracing his arms for the use of his bolas. The next layer was the protective leather padding that went around the boy’s abdomen and Alastair took the opportunity to hug him around the middle as he wrapped it around his waist. The other boy chuckled warmly, leaning into it. With a playful look at Thomas, Alastair slid to his knees for the task of securing leather guards just below Thomas’s thighs. Thomas let out a shuddering breath when Alastair touched him and Alastair, from his vantage point, could see Thomas’s lower anatomy perk up at the feeling. He grinned, loving how Thomas responded so beautifully to his touch.

Another layer of stiff leather went around Thomas’s middle and then Alastair let the boy brace himself with a hand on his shoulder as he bent to help him into the long boots, lacing them with practiced fingers. By the time he was finished, Alastair noticed that Thomas was decidedly out of breath, his stiff armor creaking in protest as his chest rose and fell quickly. His hazel eyes were glazed and his expression was hungry. Alastair, who had been similarly worked up all afternoon and was feeling a little wicked, pretended to ignore it, giving his lover a strong pat on his back.  
“That’s you all ready,” he said with stoicism that he certainly didn’t feel.

Thomas gasped at the touch, as though he could still feel Alastair’s bare fingers through his layers of protection. “I-I didn’t know simply putting on gear could be an activity so…erotic.”

That got one of Alastair’s rare, surprised laughs. “My dear Thomas, if you get this heated putting on clothes, just think of how it will feel when I take them off you again.” He gave the boy a sultry wink, then stepped back, finished with his teasing for now. They couldn’t have Thomas looking a state when Brother Zachariah arrived. Which was wise, for a moment later a loud knock sounded on the front door downstairs.

Thomas scrambled to gather his weapons from where he’d left them laid out on his bed and finished his ensemble by adding a seraph blade to each thigh guard, his stele to a loop on his belt, and a few shorter bolas hanging down the length of one leg. The pesh-kabz Alastair has given him rested in an angled sheath across his heart. They both opted to skip the hood and short cloak due to the heat of the day and the lack of need for stealth. Thomas slung a heavy-looking satchel over one shoulder and together they descended the stairs, trying to act completely normal as though Alastair playacting as Thomas’s valet had not just got them both aroused.

To their horror, Jem had already let himself in and was seated on the couch they had so recently vacated after their amorous activities earlier. They had used the cloth covering to clean themselves up with the intention of laundering it later on, and it sat wadded up under the couch, mere inches from Jem’s booted feet. 

Jem acknowledged their hurried entrance with a sage nod of his head. _I hope you do not mind the presumption of my letting myself in. The gate opened for me._ Normally, the gates of Shadowhunters’ ancestral homes would only open for members of the family, recognizing their blood as well as a key. 

Thomas relaxed a little and smiled at the man. “Of course, Uncle Jem. You’re family. Lightwood homes are always open to a Carstairs.” 

Alastair caught the quick glance Thomas gave him, as well as the innuendo that his lover may or may not have intended. He followed Thomas around a little table and they seated themselves on a larger couch across from Jem so they could all face one another. The Silent Brother had his hood pushed back, revealing his pale, expressionless face. It was always startling to see, as it was a sight that Alastair had beheld but rarely, but it was becoming more familiar and welcome the more time he was in his cousin’s company. He owed Jem so much that at this point his cousin’s present had become synonymous with comfort.

_I will keep this brief, so we do not leave our werewolf friends waiting. The news that was sent by the Clave to the Silent City was that a rival pack was caught encroaching on the land that has already been claimed by the Brocelind Pack. Since then they have become more hostile, looking to claim the pack land as their own._

_As you may or may not know, while most Downworlders are forbidden from entering the Shadowhunter home county, the Brocelind Pack was given special permission to settle in the forest. It is made up of mostly children and sponsored by the Praetor Lupus._

“I’ve heard of them,” Thomas announced. “Anna told us all about it since she’s friends with people who know Woolsey Scott, the founder. They take in newly turned werewolves and teach them control.”

Alastair smiled at the boy’s eager knowledge. “I’m familiar with the pack. The Clave approved its presence around fourteen years ago. As I recall, Mr. Herondale and Thomas’s Uncle Gabriel were advocates on Scott’s behalf.”

 _All correct_ , Jem approved. _And, since this pack is mainly those too young to rejoin society alone, they are unable to defend their land, as a more mature pack might. The Clave wants to see this experiment work and move more towards Downworlder rehabilitation rather than the more brutal methods that have been used in the past to contain feral wolves._

Alastair winced at the thought. He was aware of some of the methods to which Jem alluded and it was barbaric to say the least. He felt shame at the knowledge that his people had committed such atrocities and would not let anything like that happen as long as he lived and breathed. He felt Thomas tense beside him and, after a moment’s hesitation, slipped his hand into the other boy’s to offer comfort. 

“What has been done thus far to handle the situation?” Alastair asked. He wanted as much information as possible before they went out to assist the Brocelind Pack.

 _Some attempt has been made to locate the rival pack, mostly by the students at the Academy, but as of yet the Shadowhunters have been unable to find them._ Jem paused, and when he spoke again Alastair thought he could detect an acerbic tone in his mind. _I’m not certain they bothered to look very hard. Doubtless, some in the Clave who disapproved of the appointment of the Brocelind Pack would prefer to see the rivals overtake them, thus justifying the removal of all werewolves from the country._

Jem picked up his staff and gripped the top of it with scarred fingers. When he spoke again, his tone had returned to its usual calm. _The Brocelind Pack has told us that the others are ensconced in the forest and have made a central clearing their stronghold. Our pack has temporarily moved their dwelling to the north-western-most corner of the forest. Which is convenient for us as it is only a half hour’s walk from Lightwood Manor. Unless you would prefer to take the horses._

“Walking is fine,” Alastair said quickly. Perhaps too quickly for a warrior imbued with angelic powers, but Thomas squeezed his fingers reassuringly.

“I feel up for a stroll,” the boy said. “Is there anything else we need to know before we go? Is there a usual way of going about something like this?”

 _With understanding and empathy,_ Jem said, _as someone in a position of power should approach all things. As for a plan, I will leave that up to you. You can come up with it as we walk. Your training begins now._

Alastair almost regretted passing up the opportunity to ride; walking turned out to be slow, sweaty work. 

“It’s hot as blazes out here!” Thomas huffed as they crested the highest hill behind Lightwood Manor. The group had only been walking for ten minutes but the late afternoon sun was bearing down on them with gusto. Wrapped as they all were in gear and robes, the heat seemed to be cooking them from the inside out, like potatoes or apples set among the coals of a banked fire. Thomas continued his tirade against the sun. “When Shakespeare wrote ‘summer’s lease has all too short a date,” he had most certainly never been to Idris this time of year.”

“‘Sometime too hot the eye of Heaven shines,’” Alastair noted. “You know your Shakespeare,” he added, mostly to keep himself distracted from the unpleasant dampness spreading under the gear.

Thomas laughed, fanning himself with the flat hilt of a seraph blade as he trudged along. “Just that poem in particular. Do you know? He actually wrote it as part of a series of love poems to another man? Matthew told me.”

“Matthew is full of rubbish,” Alastair said with certainly.

 _It is true, according to some scholars,_ Jem remarked. _Though some argue for the separation of the speaker and the writer himself._

Alastair paused in his walking to gape at them both. “You’re having me on,” he said.

“It’s true,” Thomas insisted, pointing his blade hilt to emphasize his argument. “You don’t write lines like “Oh, my lovely boy’ without meaning them.”

“Will you write me love poetry, Thomas?” Alastair teased. Then he remembered that Jem was just behind him and he tripped over a rock. 

Thomas immediately came over to help him up and leaned in close to whisper in his ear just before he hauled Alastair to his feet. “My bounty is as boundless as the sea/ My love as deep; the more I give to thee,/ The more I have, for both are infinite.” Alastait was at a loss then of whether to push Thomas away for propriety’s sake, or cleave him closer and to Edom with the bloody werewolves until he had had his fill of his lover. Jem’s gentle footsteps walking past them made up his mind for him and Alastair stroked a single finger over Thomas’s exposed tattoo before moving away to follow Jem. It was for the best at the moment in any respect—it was hot as blazes.

When they arrived at the Brocelind Pack’s camp, Alastair surveyed the chaos around him and felt immediate sympathy for their charges, Downworlders or not. As someone who had moved from one home to another throughout his childhood, he understood the hardship of picking up his life and being relocated somewhere new and strange without a say in the matter, but he had always had a roof over his head and a safe place to sleep. These young wolves had neither.

Makeshift laundry lines crisscrossed between several lopsided canvas tents that looked as though they had been erected by five-year-olds. Which, he observed, might not be too far off. As Jem has said, the Praetor Lupus had sent mostly newly-turned children to be sheltered in Idris and most of them were presently running around the camp, dodging around small fire pits and tree stumps, engaged in some sort of chasing game. Adults were few and far between, some cooking, some tending to the youngest of the children. Everyone’s heads turned as one when Alastair, Thomas, and Brother Zachariah crested the last hill and descended into their camp.

Upon seeing the armed Shadowhunters, most of the younger children ran to hide behind the adults, but a few of the adolescents inched closer, intrigued by the visitors. One of the adults, a man in perhaps his early thirties with dark skin and very shabby clothes, came forward with a hand raised in greeting. Jem went to meet him and they spoke a little apart from the group, the man—the alpha—updating Jem on the happenings in his pack since he had contacted the Shadowhunters two days ago. 

Alastair wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He had been on diplomatic missions before for the Clave, mostly as an observer, but being confronted with the reality of the wolves’ situation firsthand was something new. He continued to look around the camp, situated in a shallow valley with the tree line of Brocelind Forest at its back. It was not, he noted, a particularly strategic place to lay low, with little protection on the three open sides. His years of training had taught him to seek higher ground, a vantage point from which he could see an attack long before it came.

He turned to share his strategic observation with Thomas, maybe suggest moving the camp until the interlopers were dealt with, but he found that Thomas had strayed from his side. A glance around found his lover walking up to the young teen wolves, unslinging the satchel from his shoulder. He reached into it and the children shrank back, but to their surprise and Alastair’s, Thomas drew forth a glass jar filled with brightly colored boiled sugar candies. The children gasped in awe and the boldest came forward to catch the jar when Thomas tossed it to him. Then, like an overgrown Father Christmas in the dead of summer, Thomas continued to pull things from his bag to the delight of the little werewolves. Chocolate bars wrapped in waxed paper, a bag of liquorice allsorts, fresh fruit, a tin each of fudge and Victoria cakes, which Alastair recognized as Thomas’s work. Several small books followed, as well as colored pastels and paper. Then, to everyone’s amazement, an entire cooked ham finished off the bounty. The children laughed and danced around him with their spoils while he smiled happily. 

The whole scene made Alastair’s heart clench, first with love, then with dread. Seeing Thomas interact with the children, giving them something sweet in their otherwise harsh existence, was utterly heartwarming. He had planned ahead, bought the ham and sweets and fruit and he even taken the time to bake for them. Thomas gave with no qualms to these Downworlder children, treating them as he would any child of a Shadowhunter. He was so good with the little ones, joking with them, throwing the bolder ones into the air and catching them, letting them swing from his big arms like little moneys.

All this joy was followed by a pang of regret in Alastair’s stomach. If Thomas stayed with him, if they somehow extended their relationship beyond this one bright summer week, Alastair would never be able to give Thomas children, to build a family with him like the one in which Thomas grew up. They would never have little ones running about the house, between their legs, begging for more sweets and making a joyful ruckus. Until this moment, seeing Thomas with the werewolves, Alastair hadn’t even realized it was something he wanted, but imagining such a scene with Thomas in their own home someday actually made him smile. Until he remembered that such a thing was impossible.

“Come meet my friend,” Thomas was saying, leading his gaggle of giggling children over to where Alastair stood alone. “He may look grouchy, but he’s really very kind. I bet if we ask nicely, he might show us his spears and knives!”

The children followed his lead and chattered at Alastair, begging to see his weapons. He gave Thomas a trapped look, having no idea how to talk to children, but his lover returned an encouraging smile and picked up the smallest little girl so she could see over the heads of the others. Alastair would do anything to see Thomas smile like that, even perform like a showman in front of several young werewolves.

“Ah, well, I do have a few spears with me…Would you like to see how they work?” A chorus of “yes!” met his question so he reached into his gear jacket and pulled one out. This was his favorite, with an ivory handle grip decorated in a gilt leaf pattern. He stepped back several paces from the children and, when he had their attention, flicked his wrist in just the right motion to activate the spear’s mechanical insides. The rest of the shift sprung forth from either end of the grip, growing to a full four feet in length from the electrum tip to the rounded end on the opposite side. There was a gasp from his audience and he felt inspired to give a little demonstration so he crouched into a training pattern and ran through a quick exercise. The spear flashed in the bright sunlight, looking for a moment like it had caught fire from the sun. When he finished, it was to a round of enthusiastic applause. One of his spectators was Jem, standing behind the children with the pack alpha.

Thomas noticed the adults and started to shoo the younglings back to their camp. Then he came over to Alastair and stood close enough to bump their shoulders together companionably. He was still grinning widely. “I think you’ve got some new admirers,” he noted. “Those kids really liked you.”

“And I didn’t even have to bribe them with sweets,” Alastair remarked. Thomas laughed at the painless jibe.

“I just felt so bad for them, out here alone and now being attacked by bullies when they can’t defend themselves. Kids shouldn’t have to grow up like that, even Downworlders. Idris is supposed to be a safe place—I feel like the Shadowhunters let them down.”

Alastair agreed. He had no particular love for Downworlders if he was being honest, but he did think that if the Clave had promised them safe haven, it needed to take responsibility for upholding it. “That’s why we’re here, aziz-am. We’ll put everything to rights.” He lowered his tone and added, “You were so good with those children. It comes naturally to you…You’ll make a good father.”

He felt Thomas stiffen beside him and sensed that he had said something amiss, but before he could reply, Jem and the alpha approached.

_This is Alpha Joshua LaFleur, Jem said by way of introduction. He has been telling me of what has happened since the rival pack first attacked. I would have you two hear his story as well so you can plan how to proceed._

The boys greeted the alpha and accepted his invitation to join him in the largest of the tents, which was being used as the pack’s storage and meeting area. Alastair sat next to Thomas on a wooden crate marked with the angelic power rune and the official seal of Idris. At least the Clave seemed to have sent the pack some supplies to get by on, even if they had dragged their heels in actually trying to put a stop to the matter. As the alpha outlined what had been happening, Alastair was already forming strategies in his head of how to deal with the rival pack. He wanted to handle this problem swiftly, so tomorrow he and Thomas could focus on their real mission of meeting with Ragnor Fell.

Alastair was already halfway through a plan of attack, ironing out the details meticulously as he listened to LaFleur, when the sound of a child’s terrified scream ripped him from his thoughts. He was up in a flash, spear out, Thomas just beside him. They burst from the entrance of the tent and looked around, automatically putting their backs to each other to scan the perimeter of the camp.

“There!” Thomas said, pointing to the tree line with the hilt of a seraph blade. Alastair heard him snap “Gadriel!” and saw the sword blaze as the angel’s name was invoked. He followed the line of the blade and saw chaos erupting at the far end of the camp. He and Thomas, with Jem right beside them, raced towards the sounds of fighting and screaming. When they passed the final tent on the outskirts of the camp, it was clear what was happening. 

Wolves roiled in a sea of furry bodies in the bowl of the small valley, snarling and biting, locked in deadly combat. It was easy to tell the aggressors from the members of the Brocelind Pack—each of the rival wolves as at least twice the size of any of the wolves defending the valley. Alastair had only counted a handful of adults in the pack when they had entered the camp and from the looks of it they were all engaged in the fight. A few of the wolves were smaller, less coordinated, possibly the adolescents he had met earlier. Much too young to fight.

Further back, huddled against a small outcropping of rocks, were the rest of the children, guarded by one adolescent wolf. Some of the little ones had shifted in their fright and stood with stiff legs and tails, snarling at the interlopers with a mixture of fear and lupine bravado.

Thomas turned to him for the briefest of moments, just long enough to say “Defend the children, my bolas will work better with rounding up the wolves for trial!” before bounding straight into the fight. Alastair cursed, hated to see Thomas rush so headlong into a battle in which they were outnumbered at least three-to-one, but he was also right, so Alastair turned and ran to plant himself in a defensive position in front of the younglings. He kept his eye on Thomas, however, ready to lend him aid should he need it. He watched for his cousin as well, his parchment robes quickly discarded as he joined the chaos. They were the only two human figures amid the mass of wolves. It was frightening to think of their vulnerability despite their Shadowhunters reflexes—one deep scratch or bite and they could easily be Turned.

A soft brush on the back of his leg made Alastair swing his spear around behind him but when he looked down, he saw a tiny grey she-wolf pressing herself as close to him as possible. Her little whimpers of fear cut straight to his heart and he spared a moment of attention to bend and pat her between her ears. 

That’s when he heard Thomas yell.

Alastair whipped his head up at the sound, his black eyes darting around desperately to find his lover amid the throng of battling wolves. For two, three breathless seconds the only human he could see was Jem, fighting nearly into the forest, then…There! A pale, tattooed arm held up to defend a body from an oncoming wolf. Thomas had been knocked to the ground and couldn’t get his long legs under him fast enough with so many animals bounding and slithering around him. Alastair didn’t think; he ran.

It was impossible to barrel through the writhing wolves, so when Alastair reached the edge of the fight, he dug the butt of his spear into the earth and used its leverage to vault himself over the combatants, employing years of training to twist his body in midair so he landed just in front of Thomas, his spear held out before him. The charging wolf corrected its path at the last moment, running past the spear and letting it cut a long line through its shoulder rather than straight into its chest. Alastair reveled darkly in its squeal of pain and the flash of blood on the adamas tip of his spear.

“Alast—ahh!” 

Alastair spun around to see Thomas still on the ground, face pained, the bleeding wolf with its jaws clamped into Thomas’s shoulder. “No!” he cried and swung his spear up then down with deadly accuracy, right between the Downworlder’s ribs. The wolf let out one sharp bark of rage before it died, and its mouth fell slack. From that moment, Alastair lost all sense of anything going on around him. He dropped his spear and fell to his knees beside Thomas, catching the boy up in his arms. 

“Are you hurt? Did it bite you?” he demanded, pushing back Thomas’s fringe tenderly with one hand while the other tore at the gear over his shoulder. Had he been careful enough putting it on Thomas while they were flirting earlier? Had his need to put his hands all over Thomas distracted him from making sure his gear covered all his most vulnerable places? He could see the wolf’s blood and saliva mixed over puncture marks in the dark leather, but he growled in frustration when he couldn’t pull the armor away far enough to check Thomas’s flesh for a bite mark.

“I’m ok!” Thomas gasped, trying to wriggle out of Alastair’s hold. “It didn’t get through the gear.” He pushed at Alastair’s chest, trying to get him to back away and turn his attention back to the fight, but Alastair was seeing red. Fear for Thomas and wrath at the wolf who had dared to hurt him. With a last vicious yank he tore the laces of the gear and the tunic beneath, revealing Thomas’s clean, unmarked flesh. 

“I’m fine, please,” Thomas was pleading, still pushing at him. “Don’t worry about me.” He was right, of course. The battle still raged around them and they were on the ground, disarmed and defenseless. 

“Thomas,” Alastair grit out, his anger keeping him rooted in his position kneeling over Thomas, unable to move for fear of leaving his lover open to another attack. “I can’t—”

“Behind you!” Thomas shouted, making an abortive attempt to reach for one of the seraph blades pinned under his back. Alastair could feel whoosh of air as another wolf descended upon them, the heat of its fetid breath against the back of his neck, too close for him to react in any way that would make a difference. Indecision pinned him where he was—if he stayed, he would be bitten; if he moved, he exposed Thomas. His distraction on the field had just cost them both, and maybe the younglings he had left undefended as well. He had failed everyone and he would be the one to pay the price for it.

Thomas _screamed_ as he watched over Alastair’s shoulder while the biggest wolf yet, the alpha of the rival pack, reared up with the intention of going straight for Alastair’s neck. Alastair closed his eyes, readying himself for the sharp pain of its fangs driving into his flesh. Then he felt Thomas’s agape rune burn painfully a moment on his skin before his arm moved completely on its own volition. It slid from Thomas’s face, down his chest, to grip the hilt of the dagger over his heart. Then it swung back behind himself at an impossible angle to slice up into the alpha’s jaw from underneath. The length of the pesh-kabz drove straight up through the wolf’s mouth to its brain, killing it instantly. Hot blood gushed from the mortal wound and the wolf crashed against Alastair’s back, knocking him forward onto Thomas with the force of it.

The battle around them stuttered to a halt, a ripple effect going through the rival pack as they felt the death of their alpha. It was a strong blow to the pack, to their power as well as morale. It was enough to stop the attack. As one, the rival wolves each disengaged from their individual fights and turned tail to flee into the woods. The Brocelind pack howled after them, but none pursued.

Alastair opened his eyes to Thomas’s stunned face, looking at him like he was staring at a banshee. “What was that?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

Alastair did not have the words to express anything close to what he was feeling. Everything that had happened in the past few moments had passed in a blur of activity and adrenaline and his mind was fuzzy with it. But he knew what Thomas meant. Somehow, beyond all sense and reason, Thomas had used Alastair as his sword arm, saving them both from grisly death or Turning. This wasn’t just a rune appearing on one another’s bodies, this was using the other’s body without touch or speech and without the other’s leave. The prospect was both exhilarating and terrifying.

“Are you all right?” was all Alastair was capable of voicing. He felt ragged, torn apart, even though the wolf had not laid a claw on him. Too much had happened too fast and he was struggling to keep up with it all. However, above all the other thoughts vying for attention in his overburdened mind one floated to the surface, the most important of all: Thomas was well. 

“You shouldn’t have come for me.”

Thomas’s low words stung more than any werewolf bite ever could have. Alastair barely contained the wince he felt in his shoulders. “I know,” he said, looking with resignation into the hazel eyes beneath him, “But I don’t regret it.”

“You left the younglings. You could have gotten yourself bitten or killed. I’m not worth that.” 

Alastair sighed and leaned even closer, sliding their cheeks together so he could speak in Thomas’s ear without the pack overhearing. “ _Fadat besham_.” _I’d die for you._ Thomas flinched, eyes going wide. Before Thomas could berate him any further (it was impossible for Thomas to make him feel like more of a failure than he already did), Alastair sat back a little, giving his lover room to move, and Thomas slithered out from beneath him. They stood and brushed themselves off, taking a moment to recover their weapons and look around. 

Besides the two rival wolves Alastair had taken down, several more lay on the field. Three of the rival pack lay panting and snarling, each with a bolas wrapped neatly around its four legs. A few more were injured but alive, licking their injuries, unable to flee with the others. They would be brought before the Clave for interrogation and judgment. 

Many of the Brocelind Pack were injured as well and one of the adolescents who had been in the fray since the beginning lay dead with pale glassy eyes, turned back into her human form. Alastair went to put a hand over his mouth to keep himself from being sick, but stopped when he saw the bloody knife he still held, reminding him of his own kills. He refused to look down and see the dead wolves’ human forms. Instead, he turned his attention to where he had left the younglings, praying to the angel that his reckless action had not caused more casualties. To his relief, they all still stood, unscathed and protected by the single teen who had been guarding them. One naked little girl waved at him timidly and he waved back, guessing that she was the tiny wolf he had comforted.

 _Thomas, Alastair, come with me._ They both turned to see Jem striding away from the battlefield, back up the little ridge towards the camp. _Wash up, then join me in the meeting tent,_ he directed. His voice was, as usual, expressionless and never had it bothered Alastair more than at that moment. It was impossible to tell he was angry or hurt or disappointed or any combination of the aforesaid emotions. 

Alastair and Thomas quickly went to clean themselves off behind the tent where a station of fresh water was set up for cooking and washing. Neither of them spoke, Thomas wouldn’t even look at him, and Alastair feared that something between them had fractured. Thomas must be furious with him for abandoning his post, then allowing himself to be dangerously distracted during a fight. He was a better warrior than that, but Thomas had to know by now that Alastair would risk everything for him, had been ready to do so before Thomas had somehow used the power of their runes to wield him like a weapon.

They entered the tent and sat back on the supply crates when Jem bid them to do so.

“I haven’t broken the Accords,” Alastair said at once, unable to bear the silence. He knew the punishments for Shadowhunters and especially Downworlders who went against the Law and he did not look forward to spending the rest of the week (or longer) locked up in the Gard.

 _I wasn’t about to imply that you had_ , his cousin said. _The pack is rounding up the wolves who have broken the Accords and I have already sent a fire message to the Clave. They will be sending representatives shortly to take statements and assist with cleanup. Still, by your hand two wolves are dead, one an alpha._

Alastair clenched his previously bloody hand. He hadn’t had time to properly deal with the fact that he had just taken two lives, Accords-breaking Downworlders or not, but he wasn’t about to be punished for doing his duty. “I was defending Thomas and myself.”

 _You are not being censured, Alastair,_ Jem said. _At least, not for the deaths_. Alastair sensed a lecture coming on about his actions that led up to them and he steeled himself for it, knowing it was well deserved.

Thomas stood abruptly. “I must take responsibility for the second wolf,” he blurted out. Apparently, despite his vexation at Alastair’s mistakes, he was still ready to defend him.

Jem turned his head to one side, focusing his attention on Thomas. _Explain._

Of course, thought Alastair, All Jem saw was me killing the werewolf. He doesn’t know how.

Thomas faltered. “I-er-I’m not sure how. All I know is that when Alastair was about to get bitten, I prayed to Raziel for help. I felt my eros run burn and the next thing I knew I could feel what Alastair was feeling. I don’t know how it happened but somehow I was able to direct his arm to take my knife and kill the wolf behind him. It all happened so quickly…”

More silence filled the tent. Alastair hated it. He was a man of action and sitting quietly while his cousin decided his fate went against his very nature.

 _That is…unsettling news,_ Jem said finally. _I think in light of that, we should table this discussion for tomorrow when we will meet at Ragnor’s home. He should hear the full story as well._ As he spoke, the sounds of the Brocelind pack returning to their camp rose outside the tent. Alastair did not want to face them right now, see their grieving faces as they carried the young girl back to camp to perform their funerary rites. 

Jem went to the back of the tent and pulled the flap aside for them to leave without being seen. _I will stay and meet the Clave. I think the both of you should return to the house._

Alastair was ready to retreat, to return to Lightwood Manor and decompress after all that had happened. Thomas followed him out but paused to turn back to Jem before they exited the tent.   
“If it helps, the pack is welcome to move further in, closer to the manor. In fact, they are welcome to bivouac inside with us if they like. I can’t think of those children still out here after what happened. They need Clave protection before this is resolved.”

Jem reached up to place a gentle hand on the boy’s back. _I will advise the Clave and the alpha of your offer. Now go and I shall see you both tomorrow morning. Get some rest._


End file.
